According to an untrustworthy and suspect source (a Trinnian), intelliegnt people have deposits of zinc and copper in their hair. What, i wonder, do stupid people have in their hair? That, my friends is the sign of a genius- always questioning, always pushing the... bar or boat or something.
I can do Cartwheels now. And handstands. I was practicing last night when everyone went to bed, yet another avoidance tactic to get out of doing my linguistics essay. One thing i can not do very well though is summer- hey! How do ya spell summer- saults? Sommersaults? Summer? Salts? Very tricky altogether.
I dont want to give a quote!
Cathy Burns, as submitted by intrepid reporter and devious sister Amy Burns
Your last email was disappointingly short- I worry you may be filling your time with study instead!
Marie Connolly, concerned reader
When considering how you will punish me for forgetting your birthday, please ask yourself- what would bono do? and forgive me!!
Louise Brent, new addition to our happy family
Im not paying for you to repeat next year, you can just drop out of college!
Kate Murphy, cruel and sadistic mother
Well not a lecture really- more like a tutorial. An English tutorial as it happens- yes, with the tutor that i stalk!
'These tutorials', my English tutor announced, 'are coming to an end.' Awww said Lucy.
'This', she continued, 'is the final tutorial of the year.' Pity said Lucy. '
Today we will examine themes and motifs apparant in the novel Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.' Whoopee said Lucy.
'Lets move on' she said, 'to the relationship between Heathcliff and Hareton'. With terror I noticed the dark haired girl in the corner clear her throat.
'I believe' she began 'that this relationship has strong undercurrents of homosexuality'
'Ehh- Hareton is Heathcliffs foster son.' the tutor pointed out gently.
'Ah, thats what she wants you to think! Why then did he get all jealous when Hareton falls in love with Catherine?!' She said triumphantly.
This girl is homosexual crazy. She has found Homosexual influences in almost all of the texts we have studied this year, bar 'Top Girls'which we read in December and a poem on old age we did in January.
My good pal Lynne has informed me that she never reads my newsletters, only scans them for her name, and seeing no mention of it, deletes! As a response, i hereby begin the Lynne Kirby Column, where i will dutifully discuss her to show my unabashed affection for my chum.
Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby Lynne Kirby!
Lynne Lynne Lynne!
Thank you. That is all i have to say.
Wow. Scary week for me this was. Despite my deliberate attempt to disasociate myself from my fellow UCD students (and TCD students- eww.), I have nonetheless amassed myself some buds. How this happened i know not. I put it down to my animal maganetism and rugged good looks (is ruggedness attractive quality in a woman? Doubtful).
Here is a short list of my independently earned mates. This does not include the friends of my roommates who are also attracted to me for the above reasons.
Emma: Odd looking girl in shell suit and glasses- member of my English tutorial- obsessed with homosexuality (male) in litreature.
Kim : Small girl with tumbling black curls and a permanent pout- member of my History tutorial- talks in teeny tiny voice when boys are around, unbeliveably racous and crude when they are not.
Siobhan: Neighbour- follows me to lectures every morning- underage alcoholic- prolific smoker- from Cavan, nothing more to be said really.
Claire: Fellow History student- very small- very brainy- unfortunatly plays many sports so am unable to bond with her for fear that she may form lesbian attachment- those sporty girls often do you know.
The latest addition to my "gang o' bitches" is one Aoife D, who unexpectedly addressed me as 'mate' during the concluding moments of our creative writing class last Thursday. The exchange went as follows-
Aoife- Are ya coming to the bar?
Lucy- Nah, sure Theos not goin is he? I wanted to crack in to him!
['Theo' is poet Theo Dorgan who was conducting the class on tha particular evening]
Aoife- Good one mate! Come though; will ya?
Lucy- Seriously, i have a fuckload of essays to do, it is embarrasing how stupid i am!
A- God! And I dont?! Ha ha!
L- Ha ha!
A- Will ya not come for one?
L- I'm grand thanks- see ya.
See? SEE? It is frightening how irresistable i am! She asked me for a drink THREE TIMES! Get over me!
All in all I know about eight people in Arts- another four I know to nod to in the hall. Why, I wonder am I doomed to meet all ten of them whenever I venture into the building! Most days I even bump into a lecturer or two also- my stalked english tutor especially often! It is a peculiar curse that such a reclusive genius as myself has the misfortune of meeting ten or so assholes whenever I wander the halls in vacant or in pensive mood! More often vacant actually.
Take for example my encounter with one such pleb last tuesday...
Asshole: Hi Lucy, hi!
Lucy: Oh... Hiya. How the fuck are ya.
Asshole... ooh, fine! Off to a lecture are ya? [Lucy is walking briskly away]
Lucy: Er... yes. [aside] in the bookshop!
I am just recently (half an hour ago) come from a probing and difficult mock exam with my History group. The question, on revolution and war, was unusually easy for me until I discovered with a shock that I had forgotten the date for the commencement of the American Revolution. This was a serious matter, and totally fucked up my whole essay structure. Taken greviously by surprise I gasped without thinking: 'fuuuuck!' Que disapproving looks from tutor and evil sneers from snotty boys in tutorial. Fuck indeed.
Swearing is not banned as such but refraining from using it does denote a certain civilised attitude. The lecturers swear for effect in lectures- using the term 'fucked' liberally to appear cool. Hah. One hip young lecturer announced the advancement of her hangover in colourful expletives every Monday and Thursday morning- and one Wednesday afternoon. The woman must drink all day.
Another wildly clever thing I did last week involved me old pals at creative writing. The poet lad was going around asking everyone for a word to do with 'risque' and while veryone else offered gems like 'sexy' or 'offensive' or 'scandalous', Lucy burbled for a moment before whispering- 'book'. Pausing momentarily, he eyed me with new found respect and fear. A risque book. Devilish.
Ahh. I love yis all. Ye all feel like my family. Thats why im putting ye all down on me census form as my foster children. Ahhh. And claiming the child benefit for ye. Ye kids cant bludge off me forever!
Excessively or pointlessly talkative. Not saying anything about anyone in particular...
My stalker has quit. Left, without giving two weeks notice. He's not getting a bloody reference off me, i can tell you! I am alone in the world, going without my daily business without the constant threat of death upon me. Sigh.... How lonely i am. Even a OBSESSIVE FREAK got bored. And i'm stuck with me.