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Feed Me, Seymour!
March 12, 2004, 3:40 p.m. There was a beautiful boy on my bus home from Newtown yesterday. I was speaking to my sister at the time, and I actually lost my train of thought and fell silent at the sight of him, as he got off the bus. Much alike to Figwit* he was – long brown hair, elven features. “You were distracted by that guy, weren’t you?” she accused me once he was gone. I admitted it, a little shamefaced, for I knew what her response would be. “Why? Why do you always go for guys who look so . . . underfed! He looked malnourished!” Never fear, my beloved sister, if by some uncanny turning of Fate I do actually meet him, he will probably be either, or all, a) too young for me, b) obsessed with something deplorable like fantasy** or c) have a multitude of inner demons that will send me running, screaming, into the night. And Ellie will probably berate me loudly for not broadening my tastes more. But - ! Elves - ! What else can I do but adore them? Ugh. I should stop procrastinating and go read Troilus and Criseyde. But I hates it, hates it I do! It’s so difficult to read! Whine. Stoopid freaking Chaucer – you may be the Father of the English language, but I generally don’t listen to my father, as he often rambles about inconsequentialities. Hmm . . . this does not bode well for me. If one wants an ‘in’ to the English Department of the University of Sydney, it’s generally a good idea to like Chaucer, and other medieval poets, as it appears to be our focus point. Perhaps it’s the lapsed copyright on all the texts. * Figwit first appeared in The Fellowship of the Ring, sitting next to Aragorn at the Council of Elrond, but is more noticeable in The Return of the King, as the elf who tells Arwen they must keep going to the Grey Havens, before she goes all “Nuh-uh, I gotta go make a baby with Aragorn!”. He has quite the cult following on the net ** Says the girl who is currently writing a fantasy.
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