dada dada dada

Another of those damned sneaky public holidays with which our Beloved Country is so over-endowed... I only realised it was a holiday when I managed to sleep late, since on weekdays the traffic outside my window usually wakes me up. Bonus, although I was also curiously unprepared for a day with an Evil Landlord presence instead of pleasantly in solitude, and we've been falling over each other in the kitchen all day. Damned holidays.

I've been listening to Belle & Sebastian and The Cure all day, and am consequently somewhat depressed (and what the hell can I expect?). Retreating to the Dandy Warhols hasn't really helped. The last track on this album, rather entertainingly called "The Creep Out", has a continual, monotonous beat to it which I associate rather vividly with a recurring nightmare I used to have as a child. Am I alone in having bad dreams defined in terms of beat, or pulse, or throb? A quiet, monotonous beat with repetitive equal stress is, to me, almost unbearably claustrophobic and threatening; a really angry person's speaking voice sometimes drifts into that pulse, causing me to shrivel up and die quietly. I suspect the recurring nightmare (which overlays the pulse on a seriously freaky scenario including a pit full of huge pipes, a giant, a child in a meadow and a haunted garden) may actually be a response to illness, a fever blood-beat. Weird things, bodies.

Back to marking: 30 second-year papers on Northrop Frye. My exciting life.