here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
EH. If there’s anything I can’t stand its bloody English Literature students

Not quite sure why I do this to myself. For some reason the laptop just keeps my hands on the same website. After another stint of not feeling very confident starting my MA, I choose, just to torture myself a little bit more (because torturing yourself is always so fun) by looking at extremely successful English Literature students; who

A) Have been published. Yes. We’re not talking J.K Rowling published, but they’ve had short stories/poems published. 

B) Received a First-Class-Degree in English. 

C) To top it off they’re smug Facebook bastards with more ‘likes’ than I can even possible imagine in a far flung world, and to add insult to injury, attractive with lots of friends. 

D) A & B probably counts towards them then earning a successful MA degree and a writing career. It seems they are on their way.

C doesn’t count too much here because I got over not having throngs of friends at my side a long time ago. But I do believe Facebook can be detrimental to one’s mental well-being, seeing as it doesn’t really connect people. It just makes you you stalk and compare. 

I started my MA on the totally wrong foot after being stressed out with my job (they kept messing me about/the workload was ridiculous) and consequently was overwhelmed. I was so stressed I consequently began to grind my teeth in my sleep (not pleasant). 

I can’t simply stand some of the waffle some of the students in my seminar produce. I think they are all fairly pleasant I’ll give them that but I get enough pretentiousness reading some of those academic articles that are full of big fancy indefinable words(not all, I add).

I honestly feel a tiny bit stupid. Perhaps I am not meant for postgraduate level? Am I meant to come out with ‘isms’ and completely ‘off-your-rocker’ analysis of some primary texts? I’m pretty sure Virginia Woolf would’ve raised her eyebrows. At least I’ve got Woolf on my side; I can rant about her and her books incessantly. 

And I’m meant to give a presentation (a short one) and CHRIST KNOWS how I’m gonna nail this one. Shall I just hop on the bandwagon and shove some ‘determinisms’ and ‘particularisms’ and ‘I’ve-got-no-fucking-clue’-isms in? 

I think not. I’ll be clean, free and honest and to hell with them if they think I’m dim. I say this but I’m like a mouse right now. Cowering and meek.  

I hope there’s someone out there that might agree with me/experienced the same. Or just give me a good pep-talk. A bloody good pep-talk. 


vagina’s are able to stretch wide enough to give birth to a fucking baby and then return to it’s original size but of course being penetrated by that grass blade you call a penis is what’s going to make it “loose”

"   Stay away from people who make you feel like you are hard to love.   "
(via thenocturnals)

There are no Jack Kerouacs or Holden Caulfields for girls. Literary girls don’t take road-trips to find themselves; they take trips to find men.

"Great" books, as defined by the Western canon, didn’t contain female protagonists I could admire. In fact, they barely contained female protagonists at all.

It’s Frustratingly Rare to Find a Novel About Women That’s Not About Love - Kelsey McKinney - The Atlantic (via flessh)