Sunday, October 05, 2008

Work Tomorrow!

Can't wait for my work tomorrow. :) Auntie Carol says I can buy anything I want with my money. So far the highest on my list are:

1) Hole Puncher
2) Staples. Quite interestingly, the shops sell staplers and staples in a set but not staples on their own.
3) Exercise bottoms for Games
4) Campbell instant soup with noodles or pasta in it!
5) Cup noodles which I wouldn't feel sick after eating!
6) Bits and bobs for Ryan's present for 25th of October
7) Oh! And new jeans. I realized that my most comfortable pair of jeans has a hole which cannot be repaired. *sad* Got to get new pair of jeans before dumping that one out.

So far those things should be pretty affordable except maybe for the clothes. Can't wait to get my pay though. Tomorrow I will be braving a seven hour shift. *shudder* Hope I wouldn't end in as bad a shape as my first shift. I suddenly took to my first ever migraine headache on my first shift and had to bear with it in the steamy kitchen with the dishwasher rattling away. It reduced me to tears when I got back home and the migraine headache stayed for about two more days. Talk about out staying your welcome.

But! After my seven hour shift I get to do some retail therapy the next day. ^___^ Should be getting nearly £34 from tomorrow alone. Can't wait for whenever I get regular shifts like these. Sure, they take up my time to clean my room and stuff but still, it's great for independence and everything.

My room is in a pretty bad shape now considering I haven't changed the sheets in nearly or over a month and the tables and shelfs haven't been dusted in a few months. Don't even mention the little toilet beside my room. Haven't cleaned it in ages.

Which reminds me, recently, there have been tiny little slugs appearing on the bathtub every night (or day, depends on when I'm showering). Being terrified of slugs, the first few times I sprayed, or rather, drowned them in Cif liquid and then left them there. But night after night the slugs just keep coming! Which is really scary. I suspect they are the products of this one big fat slug that came into our toilet one night a few months ago. He/she/it may have laid the eggs there somewhere in the toilet. Those slugs have been an endless source of grief for me and each shower I scrutinize every surface on my body or whatever I am about to use just to make sure it's slug-free.

I hate slugs.

Slugs slugs go away, Never come another day. You can come if I'm not around, But you can be sure there'll be traps abound.

Oh gosh. Being absorbed into another media of entertainment that is not work is not very convenient. Though, very fun. Started on this book called Birdsong, which is on the reading lists for our A level English Literature. I never really heard of having a reading list, but according to the librarian, we do. That book is really really good though. After having read up on the war, I find myself appreciating everything more. Every little thing. The cleanliness, the clothes, the rest. Simple things which the soldiers wouldn't have in the trenches with shells screaming overhead and being fired at constantly. They had to literally live among the dead bodies, with huge rats, and be covered in nits and lice. Such is the degradation of the humans in times of extreme circumstances.

The gross injustice they suffered is terrible. What the newspapers publish is nothing like what they experienced. And worse! Sometimes the newspaper will publish and go on and on about the glory of war and then unsuspecting young men will sign up. Disgraceful. Young men are not always signed on willingly. Womenfolk are absolutely disgraceful during WW1 as well. I am disgusted! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Womenfolk in those days will give young civilian men a white feather. Sometimes not into their hands. A white feather is a sign of cowardice. Once a soldier who was on leave and wasn't wearing his uniform went to church, and a woman walked up to him and stuffed a white feather up his nose. Bully!

Then, after braving the effects of war, losing friends, perhaps a few limbs, some even their sanity, and experiencing horrors which will haunt them for the rest of their lives. After all of that, they are thanked by being integrated into a group of people who have no concept of what war is really like. People who think they understand, people who think they know best but actually don't. The false superiority imposed on them must have been unbearable. And what am I, a complete green horn in war writing about? Probably rubbish which people will skim through.

*rant dies off* Sorry about that, just want to prove a point. We're learning about patriotic poems and prose written during the war to stir in young male hearts the need to fight. Which I think is pretty pointless as well as really cruel. It's so cruel to mislead them into thinking war is all shiny buckles and neat rows of marching. No war is ever that neat and tidy. No one comes back swaggering about boasting about how many man they killed and how they braved the blood and gore. But there is this infuriating little man. His name is Rupert Brooke and he writes the most soppy poems about war and how it's all shiny. He was in the war too but he never got to live to see the full horrors of it. You see, he died of a boring ol' blood infection from a teeny wound. How boring. He'd have wanted to die in a more glorified manner. Like in combat! (fool)

You'd have thought war was heaven. I better end this. And if you got here, congratulations, I have no idea how you read through all that war writing but congratulations.

"People feel sorry for Rupert Brooke dying that young. But personally, I think Life paid him back, for writing such horrible poems."-David Park, my English teacher. He really did say that, much to the mirth of the class. Oh, how I love my English teachers with their own eccentricities. It makes the lesson really fun.

No comments:

Post a Comment