“Drowning is a recurring lyrical theme on the album. Apparently imagery of drowning is synonymous with self doubt. I’ve got quite romantic thoughts of the idea of drowning, I romanticise it, the ocean being this big thing that’s not good or bad, it’s just there and bigger than all of us, it’s overwhelming, And there’s something about women’s attitude to sex - lots of water imagery, being afraid of the ocean…”—Florence Welch (on Ceremonials)
Last night I dreamed that I had a mirror and when I looked at it in a certain way, from a certain point of view, it looked like there was the reflection of another face. So I started trying to take a picture of it (using a polaroid camera, which I have never owned, by the way), but at first I couldn’t manage to: I would point the camera at the mirror, but after I took the photo it would look like I’d pointed it at the wall above. Then when I tried again there was something like an explosion and the camera broke in my hands, and when I looked at the last photo I’d taken there was a face sort of like the screaming one that suddenly pops up in youtube videos scaring the crap out of you. And when I looked at the mirror again the reflection was gone.
Then I was in the attic and was looking at some old photographs, and there was one of an elementary school class, and in a corner away from everyone else there was a little girl that looked like the face in the mirror.
The first thing I did when I woke up was turn the light on. But now that I think about it, do you know what I’m amazed at? The fact that the camera-destroying explosion thing wouldn’t have worked if I were using the digital camera I actually have (once it breaks, the photos are obviously gone), so my brain even bothered to give me a polaroid instead so that I could still be able to pick up the photo and look at it after the camera had broken. Talk about attention to details. I love my brain sometimes.
Today I failed an exam (Art History, which I chose as one of the optional classes — and I genuinely love the subject, but it turns out the exam basically consists in “I’ll show you a random picture from your 400 pages long textbook and you tell me what it is, who made it and when, and where it is now” and I have as much visual memory as a blind goldfish, so unless you show me, I don’t know, the Mona Lisa, there’s pretty much no way I’ll ever be able to tell you what it is even if I actually do know everything about the artist’s life). Then as I was running to catch the train to get home the shoulder belt of my bag suddenly broke off. I had to stop to pick up the bag, and managed to lose the train. As I sat down to wait for the next one I noticed that water was dripping out of my bag and opened it to find out the bottle I was carrying broke in the impact and was flooding my poor Art History textbook and notebooks.
When I got off the train, after having spent the whole trip trying to somehow dry the book, I was basically FUMING. And then as I was walking home with the broken and wet bag in one hand and the book and notebooks in the other I got stopped by one of those people who try to sell you postcards for charity (fuck you. If I do decide to make an offer, it will be because I wanted to, not because you chased me and tried to guilt-trip me into giving you 15 euros for your postcard after I have already said no. Besides, I genuinely didn’t have any money). I tried to tell him off politely twice, told him it was really not a good moment, but he wouldn’t stop following me so I ended up losing it and screaming “I DON’T GIVE A CRAP, JUST FUCK OFF”. He went from calling me “princess” to telling me to go fuck myself rather quickly.
Sherlock makes me feel stupid. Not because he’s a genius — well because of that too, but mostly because I can’t understand a damn thing when he talks. I’m all happy with my comprehension of spoken English and how I don’t need subtitles anymore and then he starts talking super fast and it’s like I have never improved at all. :(