You know what I should be doing, don't you... I should be submitting this week's blog post for Anthropology, on magic, witchcraft and ritual. But instead, I'm perusing ebay for boats - just for fun, looking for my ultimate "ladies boat" (for the day when I become a "lady"). Then I went browsing around for a campervan... vehicle of my dreams. Quite out of reach for now so I lowered my sights to a new tent. Ahhhh yes. I could do with a new tent. One big enough for all 4 of us. When we've camped since having little nippers, we've taken 2 small (3 wo-man) tents. I feel the need for a family tent. Of course all of this is just rambling procrastination because what I should be doing is submitting that anthropology blog post.
You know what I discovered this week? (By the way, who are you!? WHO am I talking to? No wonder the Zimbabwean thinks I'm going mad.) Well, I discovered the voice memo capability on my phone. I love it! Not only does it look like a microphone, I can talk into it, leaving myself all kinds of useful memos whilst looking like I'm having a legitimate telephone conversation with someone, thereby appearing sane! I'm sure this will come in handy for all manner of messages (to myself). Sun number one had already discovered this feature, on the 19th April 2012. Tonight I got to hear a delightful memo recording all sorts of interesting warbles of his voice. And farting noises. Ha ha.
So, I was at uni yesterday - oh my, what an inspiring place to be - walking across the spacious campus in Springtime sunshine, when I thought of Nancy, the list writer. Nancy, if you are listening, I hope you are sitting front and centre, feeling engaged and passionate and thoroughly participating, like a good mature-age student should! Second semester is progressing beautifully in my world. I'm appreciating my lecturers and my subject choices and I've lost the first semester nerves/urge to vomit. I'm mature age and I'm OK!
Lately I've been forming clear enough questions regarding my current study path to actually request an academic advisor for, well, advice. So off I trit-trotted to the Arts faculty to seek out the sucker who would bear the brunt of this week's barrage of questions. The only 'advisor' who appeared to be in his office and available was none other than the head of anthropology at my chosen university. In I went. I refrained from (very obviously) looking at the books on the shelves. The desk was a mess, in an academic kind of way. The office was large, large enough for a desk placed 1/3 of the way across the room, between two windows, as well as a round table big enough for a family of 6. That's where we sat, at the round table. I tried not to make myself appear too comfortable. You could say that's a fault of mine... the ability to make myself too comfortable in someone else's office/house/kitchen/space.
The walls were pale blue, the furnishings were daggy. Oh it was quite a lovely office (in need of a feminine touch). I asked my questions. I didn't really receive answers, but I found my answers, if you know what I mean. It was like having a conversation with myself really. Or with Mr Bean. Although this man was much more attractive than Mr Bean.
I descended the seven flights of stairs with (just a touch more) clarity and a bounce in my boot, feeling pleased with myself for being brave enough to speak with such a high-ranking intellectual. Although, you know, on deeper reflection, for a more grounded reality perhaps the head of anthropology should find a ground floor office. I think it's hard to feel grounded when you are indeed, so far from the ground.
Afore-mentioned sun number one is away on his first school camp. Yesterday, apparently, on day one of camp, his head somehow collided with some kind of metal post, resulting in much blood and a trip to a medical centre to have his head clued back together. Really... are all boys as reckless as mine?