There’s being busy, and there’s being self-absorbed, and then there’s being an absolute fuckwit.

I was on a tram in the city on Remembrance Day last week. Pulled up at the intersection of Swanston and La Trobe, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that since it was about to be 11am, the tram would be staying at the stop to observe the minute’s silence. And fair enough, too.

However, a charming example of humanity apparently didn’t feel the same way. “Awww, what?” he whined, in a loud, listen-to-me, Mummy! kind of way. “I fucken paid for this!” He glanced belligerantly around the carriage, looking for support for his one-man anti-war-victim rant, his suffering and the few bucks spent on a ticket quite obviously analagous to the plights of those who were now putting him a full minute behind in his terribly important business. Dying tragically and pointlessly in a war declared by those who will never come close to fighting it? Pffft. Spending five bucks on a Metcard only to be forced to sit in silence while a tram doesn’t move for sixty seconds? INHUMAN.

Fortunately our charming hero was the subject of many greasy eyeballs for his outburst, my own among them. He actually seemed to deflate as he took in the disgust of the other tram passengers. It was rather neat, in a way.

My thesis is handed in. All sixty freakin’ pages and exuberant use of semicolons of it. I can’t quite adjust to not having to work on it anymore. I keep getting spontaneous attacks of the guilts, thinking I should be doing something more productive than lounging around on the couch drinking beer and catching up on my brain candy reading. But it’s over! Ha!

That was just over a week ago. After getting my thesis bound at the Uni publications desk, staffed by none other than my awesome, spunky and devastatingly witty friend Mairghread, I trotted up to the seventh floor of the Menzies building to hand it in, only to discover that the office was closed for lunch. So to kill time, I spent some time and money at the bookshop, then paid a surprise visit to my supervisor to show her the finished product, prancing into her office and presenting one of the copies to her in a manner not unlike that of a proud cat presenting its human with its latest small deceased rodent. Eventually the handing in and signing of the official forms occurred, which took all of about thirty seconds. All that buildup and anticipation for something that turned out to be not very exciting and over very quickly; it was like I’d gotten back together with my first boyfriend or something.

Once that was all over, I drove to Stuart’s to pick him up for our little sojourn to the Macdeon Ranges. Bushwalking was done, good food was eaten, sins against God were committed. It was beautifully relaxing, except for the part where Stuart chased a gigantic huntsman spider into bed with me. He claims it was an accident and that he was actually trying to catch it (which he eventually did), but I can’t help but wonder if it was his passive-aggressive way of informing me that a threesome is out of the question.

Now I am trying to make my brain realise that a) it really is allowed to relax and b) some creative writing would be a nice thing to achieve. Yesterday’s sterling effort of standing in a wading pool and drinking dangerously alcoholic punch at a Cup Day barbecue was a good one, although it has to be said that it didn’t do much for the creativity.

I’m freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I’m no longer a scummy Uni student!

Unless I get into the postgrad course I’ve applied to do next year. In which case, I retract the previous two sentences. Punishment, meet the Glutton. Stacks on!