For some odd reason I find that I've very little to say whenever I come here nowadays, so much that when I see the white box I just type something random like "I'm bored" and decide that it isn't worth posting too many random one-liner entries.

It appears that today isn't one of those cases.

But any old how, I think that's probably because I've been too preoccupied with prelims to let my mind wander about the usual mopeydopey subjects. Prelims have been terrorizing most of my brainspace, leaving me little time to think about love and other such womanly issues that make for good blogging material.

Which is not a good thing, seeing how Lit S looms tomorrow. I humbly assert that I'm probably sufficiently prepared for a love question, but other than that I have no idea what I'm going to write about! I tried finding books that gave depressing perspectives on the human condition, but (and I know this is a very lame excuse) I haven't had time to read them! I probably wouldn't get through them anyway, I'll just huddle up in the middle of the book and cry into my blanky. I know I got very upset after reading Bell Jar (okay technically that isn't the futility of human condition, it's just whiny teenage angst, but still. It's powerful whiny stuff.)

Stupid girl fluff.

Jeanette Winterson is, however, very good. She is teh love guru, and she pwns everyone, and makes me happy in my bed eating chocolate under the sheets. See. Out there someone understands, that love is wanting to destroy and be destroyed. (Oranges are not the only fruit)