Tuesday, August 17, 2010

NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING


The combination of exams, essays, late night, poor food, ill health, too many weekends spent drunk in the early hours, in short; the malaise of student life, has brought me down recently. 

You know your stress levels are right up there when escape is no longer possible via sleep, and you wake up three hours before you should, head buzzing with all the various 'To do's' and 'Should have done's.'

Right now I feel sorely tempted to book a one way ticket to Mexico or somewhere and live out the rest of my days as an illegal immigrant on some idyllic beach in a glorious haze of sun, cigarettes and cheap wine...

Pipe dreams aside, I read a poem today that I identified with far more than I probably would if I had chanced upon it a week ago. No indie cool points for me on this discovery, for it is widely known, but it sums things up quite nicely so I'm posting it in true livejournal style. Mood: apathetic et cet, et cet. 

NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning. 

Perhaps a little hyperbolic in terms of my current situation. Yes, I have a lot of work to do. But I'm sitting inside, its warm, I've got a good wine, and a Rachmaninoff concerto to accompany me. So it's not all bad. 

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