A moment's rest

It's wearing down to the end of the year in Wellington. There is a very familiar feeling that comes with this. It's the start-of-exams, beginning-of-warm-weather, getting-close-to-Christmas feeling, but it's not here quite yet. This could be because the weather has not sufficiently warmed up, and insists on providing us with regular doses of rain and wind (not that that's unusual).

The holiday won't be as long for me. I've made the decision to do summer school at Victoria, one philosophy class that will finish off my major and one creative writing course that should be great if I get into it. This burst of studiousness paves the way for me to do honours in philosophy next year. This will officially make me a post-graduate student. Indeed one of the main reasons I am doing it is for the feeling of superiority over the measly undergraduates (a feeling I have always had but until now never been able to justify). Other benefits include the philosophy camp, having drinks with the staff, occasional free pizza and being able to talk about philosophy with other people without sounding like a weirdo.

In other news, my sister and mother have fled the country. I wish they'd taken me with them. I saw them off on the bus at 7am. They hadn't had much practice carrying their backpacks and I felt like a clucky mother seeing her children clamber up the steps of the schoolbus with packs about twice their size. Word on the street is that they're either in Denmark or Berlin. My sister evidently finds squirrels quite engaging. I spent a week at the house up in Brooklyn looking after the dog. I told her that Mum and Steph were going on a very long walk.

Friday night at the check-out

All times are strange, but some days of the week are stranger than others. All of Sunday is strange, both the morning, the blank afternoon and the evening. I think that Sundays feel like the end of the world. Fridays, there's another weird day. Right from the beginning, the little kick: ooh, it's Friday today. The afternoon lags a bit but everybody is cheerful. Exceptions are made, because it's a Friday and everybody wants to go home. Then the late afternoons/early evenings, when it seems that time stretches on forever. I love those late afternoons.

But now it is ten to seven. The play that I wanted to see was booked out. None of my flatmates are home, none of the ones I want to talk to at least. I have some movies on my hard drive, and some rhubarb in the fridge. I could make crumble. I could go to the supermarket and get some wine and something from the video shop (it's half-price on TV shows today). I guess I could go downtown and celebrate Friday in true style. Or I could do something more productive, work on some of the things I've been planning that never seem to happen. Nothing happened at all in the holidays. Four seasons of Doctor Who happened instead.

Is this how the world is lost?