We don't need no.

I had to write an essay a few weeks back on the topic of identities and how they're expressed, or not expressed, through how we use language. It was an interesting exercise and by the end of it I had basically decided I was as close to proud of my essay as I could get. I showed it to a friend, Denise. At the end of it she told me she could barely understand the essay because of the way I used language; it seemed designed to exclude people not university educated.

Despite all the snide remarks I've made all year about the University snobs (post-grad students who work as tutors but talk like they're of noble blood etc.) I have become a part of that world. It's who I am now whether I like it or not and the way I write essays and approach the world and speak about issues is so strongly informed by the privilege and density and utter wankerousness of the atmosphere I'm in at University. The further I go into this degree, the more I think I might not end up somewhere I like. Or I might lose too much of myself to recognise when I've become someone who prizes sounding smart more than making a worthwhile point or who would rather live in borderline poverty and continue studying into my thirties than actually enter the world as an adult and function independently.

I've always been that kid that can't adjust to different social situations. I'm as likely to attempt to use four syllable words during a party as in the middle of a class debate. If I stick around at Uni, will I have any hope of having friends who aren't as over educated and under experienced as I am? Will I ever contribute to the world rather than continue to live in some freaky University clean room?

When I write about identities and language, I worry that the one I'm creating for myself with every subsequent word is one I'll wish I'd never expressed.

9-5.

Or, more accurately, 9:30-4:30. Working every day this week which is proving interesting.

I am so tired I have started making very stupid mistakes. Embarrassing, ridiculous mistakes. I spend half my time at work blushing. I'm flushed the other half of the time due to the over-heating in solicitor offices. So basically I'm just always red in the face.

I have no idea what I will wear tomorrow. I run out of "business-y" work clothes uber quick due to my having a very limited wardrobe mostly consisting of ill-fitting, second hand or cheap men's clothing and/or mini skirts. I know, I'm an enigma. Either way, practically nothing I own is appropriate for settlement rooms. Today I wore red tartan tights with knee high boots, a fugly black skirt I bought to portray an indie wanker in a school play and several layered black tops to try and look like something resembling a shirt or blouse (or at least something fashionable enough to suffice). Luckily, people thought my style was somewhat inspired. Now I know how fashion trends like bubble skirts or ankle boots get started; people get desperate and think "this will have to do". Shudder.

There is a shop on Bourke St between the office and the Commonwealth Bank that I always pass on my way to and fro. It's very cutesy and commercial but it has gorgeous cards and toys and parasols and one day I would really like to buy something from there. I could use a parasol. How else will people know I'm a lady?

I am so tired but I need to finish this essay and submit it (one day late, mind you) so that I can feel free for 5.7 days before the guilt grows too intense and I start studying for my exams. 'Til then; Huzzah.