My bedroom, usually in a state whereby bomb detonations would be a marked improvement, is pristine. All of my laundry for the next three weeks is done, folded away and hung up. My diet now consists of, instead of Bacon and instant soup, lavishly prepared three course meals gently roasting away in the stove. I reply to emails on time, I respond to optional surveys, no job for a friend is too big or too small.
What does this tell you reader? It is exam time.
I procrastinate at a superhuman level. I think this is something to do with the discovery I made as a child that if it was easier to do something yourself than to wait the eons it would take for me to perform said task; no-one would ask you to do anything. Charlie Brooker, who I feel a sense of innate companionship towards, once said that it took him three weeks to change a lightbulb in the kitchen. I mean him no offence, but three weeks is copping out too early. Learn to love the dark.
Hell, even as I'm writing this blag I'm checking Facebook and Gmail, reading webcomics and buying things I don't need or even want off of ebay. I only started this blog to get away from doing the washing up, and I only had a meal so I had an excuse to stop revising. I am four layers into recursive procrastination. That's got to be some form of achievement, even if it is a retarded kind.
I am possibly the worst person at revising in the world, including the deceased. My notes are always scrawled onto random sheets of paper as if a drunken spider covered in ink was crawling across the page, and then organised chronologically. I am using 'chronologically' in this context to mean 'not at all'. I then lose them, where they are compacted into blocks of wood which have friezes of the baby Jesus carved on to them. This is, of course, conjecture -- but they might as well be. Heavens be damned if I know what I did with them.
So of course I go to the library, take out twenty-seven books vaguely related to the topic and arrange them on my shelf back at residence, and watch as they slowly accumulate late fees. I assume everyone else does this too. Sometimes I'll open one at a random page, read about four lines of it, and then I will have finished the book, without reading any of it at all. I will simply be turning pages whilst in my brain I kill Orcs with a Thomson Submachine gun.
I suppose this is a direct result of the type of brain I have, which would rather explode in a fit of rebellion than stay on one topic for more than twelve consecutive seconds. The stupidest thing is that I spend half my time wondering about philosophy, but just the wrong kinds of philosophy. The day before my test on Kant, I'll spend considering the metaphysics of Frege; the day before my philosophy of language exam I'll ponder the categorical imperative. It's almost as if my brain is actively trying to sabotage itself.
Also: as a sidenote, to all of you that were worried about my safety when the blog failed to update last week (i.e. none of you) everything is cool. I'm sorry I missed a week, but I was in Toronto. Was it fun? Yes it was fun. I hope this won't come between us.
Of course, the fact that I'm in the middle of a massive insomnia attack doesn't help with revision terribly much. A common misconception about insomnia is that it is the condition of being constantly awake. This is not true, rather it is the condition of not being able to sleep. When you have insomnia, you're never really awake either. You exist in some bizarre fugue state of existence, where it is almost impossible to remember anything. After periods of insomnia, things you've done surprise you. I've literally forgotten about conversations I had, people I saw, in one case even a movie I went to the cinema to watch.
Anyway, I'm sure I'll go into more detail in some future blog post, but let it be known I'm over the worst of it. Naught but two days ago I had a fantastic thirteen hour long sleep, and one of the coolest dreams I've had for years. I was back at my old house in Jersey, with some friends from both Canada and Warwick, and we fought a Tyrannosaurus Rex. For those of you that knew him, Sundeep Watts was there, and delivered the killing blow to the beast. This will be his Eulogy in my mind. Sundeep Watts: Kicking the ass of Dinosaurs all the way from heaven.
Anyway, to leave on a high, or at least mid-level, note -- I'm going to be okay. I know this because I always am with these things. I won't revise nearly enough, and it'll scare me, and I'll do more work next term. I know this will happen now, and yet I still wait for it. On the plus side, my room really is spotless.
'Howl' by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Their Awesomeness is directly proportional to the amount of constanants in their name. Check them out now.