So, actually, I’m doing fine. It just took me a little while to work through deeply upset to useless to angry to angry and doing something about it. It appears that this particular lecturer has an unfortunate way with words; and so the anger’s now subsided. That added to her response to my e-mail which suggested that maybe my essay was more in need of tweaks and improvements more than wholesale re-writing again.
*sighs*
I know e-mail is a hard medium to get the hang of, but it’s kind of important to remember that if you don’t phrase things right, all people have got is that bare text in front of them – and it can really suck if that’s not right.
Anyway.
Spent yesterday at a party – drinking into the night, not *far* into the night, but hey. And not really drinking enough – but I had a really good time – chilled out – got to know a couple of the lasses who I’ve been on the course with far better, feel sad that I didn’t get to know them earlier.
Bah.
Tell you one thing though, it’s incredible how much a house says about a person. I walked in and *knew* that the owner of the house was gay. It shouted at me, and I kept saying to myself “don’t leap to conclusions”. Apparently, she is… The thing is, it was clean, the spaces I went into were all the shared ones (she has lodgers – hence this lass living there (see, even still I’m hesitant to go as far as friend, because I really *don’t* know her well enough. She’s dead nice though)).
Yeah. So. But it’s not like my house where there’s lesbian books and magazines, and rainbow flags, and blah, and blah. So what was it that told me? That’s what I don’t get… I just *knew*. Heh, rar for gaydar.
