Ok. Right now I’m on the “Never Drink Again” curve of the “What the hell did I drink last night” cycle.
I was going to give you an in depth detail of the party and it’s drinking, but since I missed most of it, though passing out, I can’t. Sorry.
I have an idea for a new section, which will involve me writing stuff again. S2 has died, as has Project ANN (Until I get insperation). On the basis of those, I’m not going to say anything about the new project until I’ve finished it. Hah.
Feeling slightly delicate this morning. Can’t think why
Sorry about the absence of stuff yesterday, I was sitting in a hall registering people for the Sci-Fi Club for 7 hours
Still un-flatted, I am Still camping on the sofa in Mowbury House, paying my way by doing the washing up occasionally. My mobile is fixed, however, and so I am back in communication with The Wide World. and can feel free to moan at my landlord to get a bloody move on.
I’ve screwed this up incredibly badly. Havn’t I?
In other news, my loan also hasn’t come though. Phone calls (at 35p+/min on my mobile, *shudder*) must now be made.
But I’m back in the swing of University. Going to lectures, reading books, surfing websites, being addicted to Everything2.
Which is nice.
My life is a mess.
Got up, went to Uni, went to Lectures, Learnt stuff, Surfed Net, Currently sitting in Library, Later I have a meeting for the Scifi Soc. then I’ll go home.
Still no flat.
The story so far…
On the Twenty sixth of January, 1981, Nicholas Avenell, later to be better known as Aquarion, arrived mewling and puking into this vale of tears. He breezed though primary and secondary school with average grades, and then struck an academic brick wall when he failed his A-Levels (not totally, but badly enough for his world to come crashing down around his ears).
After wrestling a place at Sunderland University (“I failed, will you still take me?” “Yeah, Ok”) he breezed though the first year of his HND without engaging real thought to it, planning on doing the year before transfering somewhere else. After a results day and several E-mails to other universities, he became thoughrally disillusioned with the University system (as he had of the Secondary School system a year earlier) as well as losing any faith that remained in himself. During this time he failed to do anything at all, his website became cobwebed, his stories and poems abandoned.
At the end of August, he found friendship and compainions online, who trusted him, and whom he trusted. After a while he was dragged out of depression by the scruff of his neck and resigned himself to going back to Sunderland.
Then he went on holiday for two weeks.
Of the mistakes to make, this may be one of the worst. By the time he started looking for houses in Sunderland, term started in less than two weeks. Several phone calls and rejections issued, but one came though. Almost a week after his first phone call, he recieved a return from a landlord who had a flat going spare. A flurry of messages and missed answerphone messages resulted in finally securing the flat exactly 14 hours before term started on the monday morning.
While this was going on, complications in the online world had arisen, and he was too caught up in his own problems to attempt to sort them out. Bickering, arguements, and recriminations were flying, and he was forced to abandon, on a temporary basis, the closest thing to a “Home Channel” he had, or else risk leaving permenantly. He left silently, but not without remorce, regreting that he was abandoning one to one conversation with many of his friends purely because of an argument he didn’t start.
Finally, he signed the cheques and the contracts for his new flat. Only to discover that he would have to wait for the cheque to clear. A process that may take days. Days when he has to rely on his flatmates generocity to keep him of the streets.
Currenly homeless, and sleeping on friends sofas while he trys to sort his online, and offline, lives out, Aquarion resolves to put his diary back into it’s former glory with daily updates.
If he can.
Ok, I *did* do an update, but it didn’t post for some reason. Researching.
I have had a seriously shitty week now. Each of my emergancy backup plans fell over one by one, and I end up starting Uni on Monday when I still don’t have a flat to move into.
I’m still at home for Fsck’s sake.
Sorry. I’ll get this sorted, Daily updates from soonish. Promise.
*then* I can get back to promoting the site.
Two things, in decreasing order of importance:
- I am out of the loop for a day or two, searching for flats in Sunderland. There is no known method of contacting me reliably. I will check Nicholas-at-Aquarionics if I can
- I have left Esper.net, Silently and for all the reasons below, at least until Christmas. If you need to IRC me (and assuming I’m on after this week, by no means certian. This is what todays flathunting is for) you can do so via the Lspace.org servers. Or you can e-mail me.
Ok, Sorry about this.
When my life is boring, I don’t have anything to report. When life isn’t, I have no time to ‘blog.
In increasing chronological order then:
Tuesday: I went to Canterbury to find a pub for Saturday’s Meet. Canterbury (Home of Charlotte from TBC, although I don’t know her) is a very nice old town with lots of nice little winding allyways to get totally and hopelessly lost in. Blisters a go-go.
Wednesday/Thursday: Nasty Things Happened. On IRC, while I was feeling depressed and irritated, one of the Op’s decided to play a trick on a relitive Newbie, coming on (in both senses of the word) as “Layra”. One of the *other* ops then decided to distribute the logs of him telling us about this to said person.
/onotice, the method by which Op’s on IRC talk to each other without the rest of the channel hearing, is a privite medium. Used to discuss many things, including “I remember the old days”, “Who is X, really?”, “Is Y suitible for the channel”, and occasionally “God I wish this guy would stop it with the Popup’s already”. It is *Op’s Notice*. People say things on it which are *private*. And when other people use the /onotice logs as a weapon in a private war, All the Ops get hurt. I am now stuck in the middle of an interchannel war. I *hate* Interchannel Wars. This one has at least four sides, including the original channel, a breakaway channel after an argument in the main channel, A reactionary group protesting about the fact that some people were dropped from the list of people who were Op’s on the channel, and the Others, the people who actually *use* the channel to talk. I have friends in each and every camp, and I am *in* three of them. (AOp on the two channels, and a user as well). ARGHHH.
Friday: A phone call woke me from my revery on the perils of Flathunting. I now have a flat in Sunderland! Yay!
Went on IRC, Talked to someone who used to live in Sunderland. Was told it wasn’t a nice area. Damn.
Saturday: Meet in Canterbury. Left at 12:00, Arrived at Canterbury 14:50, in pub by 15:15, person arrived 15:45, Drank, Ate, Wandered around Canterbury. 18:00 realised I’d lost my mobile. Backtrack. Not in pub. Damn. Got home 23:00. Fun Meet 🙂
Sunday: Barred Mobile, Updated Blog.