Curiouser...

"I'm. Not. Doing. It. I'm just not. I'm going to do some relaxing instead."

This has been the overwhelming response to the (slightly crippling) workload of the past week. Even Kat, normally so full of sweetness and light, had turned into something of a monster, devoting her study periods to either glaring at a history textbook or a copy of Cold Mountain. Actually, everyone is having the Cold Mountain problem. Our frees have turned into an epic reading group, people staring sadly at the cover, trying to muster up some enthusiasm, or sitting miserably re-reading every sentence ten times because "it is just so damn boring".

"Hmmmm. I have read," said Marcus, looking up sheepishly, "nine pages in an hour. Which is a bit slow, isn't it? And I've got another three hundred to go..."

Anyway. I have mostly been busy, keeping myself to myself with my iPod in such times. A surprising amount of work can be done, when you're not listening to people engage in, frankly, bizarre conversations:

"You cannot get cancer in space!" burst out someone, indignantly. I looked up in alarm.

"Sorry. Just, ahem, you know..."

And then:

"Hmmm. Well. I don't see what's wrong with fatty mutants as a theme. We could make a fat person out of balloons..."

or:

"I fucking hate that little man. Oooh. I know! I'm going to find Emma and squeeze her head."

Indeed. Things are getting strange now.