woe is definitely me

I've been fairly miserable to live with this last fortnight. I put the main cause down to the fruitless researching I've been doing for my Coleridge assignment, which has been utterly frustrating: racking my brains for creative ways to attack the mass of critical material available, finally finding something sort-of relevant, chasing down the article (online or in the library) only to reach a dead-end. The VUW library is woefully under-resourced in eighteenth-century literature criticism; they only just started subscribing to some key journals (Coleridge Bulletin, Wordsworth Circle, Studies in Romanticism) last year, so there are only 2 or 3 issues available, and nothing available online. Makes it pretty difficult to do scholarly research without any resources! Not to mention the parameter on this assignment that the articles must have been published in the last ten years. There seemed to have been a 'Coleridge Renaissance' in the 1960s and 1980s, particularly on the poem of my research, but alas I cannot use these articles. Well, I may have been able to persuade my lecturer if I was desperate, but I have actually managed to complete the task to the initial requirements. I've read all fifteen articles; some of them are almost sixty pages, and extremely dry, but I have to write about five of them, so I can't just put them in the bibliography and pretend I know what they're about. If I did that, Heidi would be most likely to ask me something about them, because that is how things always go, and it would just be embarassing for me because she knows everyone in the Romantic litcrit scene, and was hanging out with them all at a Coleridge conference in some tiny village in a remote part of England earlier this semester. Luckily, I've managed to avoid having to analyse any of her articles - that would just be too intimidating. Not that she's scary; she's a lovely Belgian who is very friendly. But she knows so much that I feel almost scared to open my mouth in class..

The above assignment has been stressing me out quite a bit, which has resulted in some physiological problems, most notably mouth ulcers, headaches, and sore throat. Plus to add to the fun, all four of my wisdom teeth have decided to appear. So my mouth is really sore. The worst offender is the bottom right wisdom tooth, which (it gets worse) is causing the teeth next door to hurt too, I guess the new tooth coming through is pushing on the existing teeth, trying to make room for itself. PLUS all of the above is making my right ear ache in a most painful manner.

I put bonjela on my wounds on Wednesday, but I (most unfortunately) forgot it was aniseed-flavoured, and almost gagged after my tongue had registered this fact. Yuck. I hate aniseed. So I drank about 2 litres of water in an attempt to get rid of the taste, thereby nullifying any soothing qualities I might have gained from that awful unguent. I must say, the smell took me back to childhood, probably not my own (too young to remember) but more likely when my siblings were similarly afflicted. I can see why babies cry and dribble all the time when they are teething, it is just a constant ache. Maybe I should get a teething rusk, or one of those rubber toys filled with water, usually in the shape of ducks or clowns, that you put in the freezer for awhile, for babies to gnaw on.

I've had all these so-called wisdom teeth come up before, only to disappear again (apparently lots of people have this, I'm not some sort of dental mutant), but its never been this bad. Unfortunately for me, I have an irrational phobia of the dentist, and haven't been for a year or two, partially due to the cost, but mainly the fear. Which is silly, because the longer I avoid the dentist, the worse it will be later - but it's pretty hard to make an appointment to put oneself through something that one is scared of. My cousin Stephen recommended a dentist who sounds nice, as nice as someone doing painful things to your mouth can be, so I've made a deal with myself: once the ulcer right next to the very-sore-wisdom-tooth has gone away, I'll go to the dentist. I'm just too wimpy to go now, because inevitably the dentist will touch it and I'll probably scream. So until then, I'll be fine if I don't talk, eat, drink, swallow, lie on my right ear, or move in any way. Okay.

After all that talk of teeth, let's move onto something more pleasant. Jeremy and I maxed out our 'entertainment budget' for this week and bought tickets to "Under Milk Wood", by Dylan Thomas, being performed at the Downstage Theatre. I've neither read the play nor seen, or more specifically, heard it performed (it was originally a radio play), but throughout my degree I have heard it brought up several times. It sounds really complex (69 characters, played by only four actors) but challenging-in-a-good-way, and thus I am looking forward to tonight's performance. I love going to the theatre, not just for the chance to wear something more adventurous sartorially than my jeans-and-cardigan uniform, but to give my support to the arts. I wish I (we) had the money to go to more theatre and concerts, but at the moment it just isn't possible. Being on one income (well, I get a student allowance, but it's hardly a contribution to our coffers) is pretty tough, but as soon as my exams are over, I think I'll go temping again - it's rather lucrative. And it means that I take a lot more pleasure from the few events I can go to, and actively search out the free ones - there is a fantastic exhibition at the City Gallery right now, called "My Hi-Fi My Sci-Fi" by Elizabeth Thomson, which has nothing to do with sci-fi or hi-fi at all really, just a lot of leaves made into some amazing large-scale works. Do go if you've got a spare half hour- it's free!

Talking of the City Gallery and free things, for the last four weeks, they have been holding poetry readings there on Wednesday nights. I went to three of the four, and enjoyed all except the third. I won't bore you with tales of who was there and why some were good and others not, suffice to say that I saw my most beloved poets: Harry Ricketts, and Alastair Te Ariki Campbell, and Meg Campbell. Sometimes hearing poets read their poems enhances your knowledge of their writing, other times it puts you off altogether, as experienced on Wednesday this week, although perhaps I was extra-sensitive due to wisdom-teeth-and-earache? Anyway, the readings were nice treats for wintry nights.

Segue based on treats... Jeremy and I are once-again looking for a place to go away to for the weekend, sometime soon preferably. On Air New Zealand's "grab a seat" promotion (so addictive), they had flights from Wellington to Auckland for $70, but for two people to get there and back, that adds up to $280, not counting spending money or anything. Plus, the flights were only available in mid-November, and seeing we are going to Auckland in mid-December (well, sort of - just a stop over on the way to L.A., but we'll be with my family for two weeks), it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense. So I'm pushing for a trip sometime this month, or by Labour Weekend at the latest. I get quite claustrophobic here in Wellington; I start feeling like all the hills are closing in on me, and I just have to get out (hence day-trips to places like the Wairarapa, so flat, like Auckland). Anyway, I've been trawling the 'holiday homes to rent' websites, and I've made up a shortlist - hopefully we can book something soon.