As the pretty Bedingfield girl would say,
Trying to find the magic
Trying to write a classic
Don’t you know, don’t you know, don’t you know?
Waste-bin full of paper
Clever rhymes, see you later!
So, it’s been a tough few days here at Jupsville. Heheheh, Jupsville..How tough you ask?Nerve-racking my dears. I’ve done so many brainiacal things that I’ve close to swallowed my fingers whole. For the first time in more than two years, my skin is bruised from acute nailbiting. It is the ugliness itself. Groan.
But here at Jupsville, we have grandiose things to think about. We have to think up deliciously smart ways of solving the world’s problems (on paper). We have to find ways to make the rich richer and the poor richer. We have to prove unto others why we and we alone are capable of such fine brainiacal grandiosity. And finally we have to break their hearts with stories of how we are poor (so poor that sometimes we go 60 days without so much as buying a single shoe) and that they must reward us suitably in exchange for our grand plans.
Si. es mucho trabajo, senor.
Here at Jupsville, sleep has been an elusive little temptress for we are still thinking, plotting and obsessing even with shut eyelids and we wake up sooner than we have to. The wrinkles that we are cursed with are only getting worse. We furrow our brows in dismay and then un-furrow it instantly because we know that furrowing only makes matters and wrinkles worse.
We get sick from overeating on Sunday. We take Monday off. Fortunately, diarrhoea doesn’t dull the brain and we get back to brainiacal things in the jiffiest of jiffies.
We write, write, write
until inspiration runs dry.
Yesterday we decide to stay up late. We come back from work and cook the delicious okra.
and get back into brainiacal grind.
We write, write, write
until it is almost midnight
and then the doorbell goes triiiiing
Now who could it be?
Why it is the shoes from the beautiful Arab lands! We are indeed pleased! There is the pair of beautiful white flat shoes studded with the earthy blue stones. They are much too precious. We feel like the nubile, adolescent Arab princesses with the lace veils and the tiny, fragile feet. Lo and behold, there is also the stunning pair of gladiator shoes in heavenly brown satin and embellished with the amber stones. We assure you these promiscuous beauties are by no means ordinary. We prance around the house in our new shoes whilst eating strawberry yoghurt.
Then like Cinderella, we take the shoes off, turn into a pumpkin and get back to work.
We write, write, write. We change the world with our writings. We finally submit our grand plans into the little white computer and onto the interweb and presumably into the little online letterboxes of the generous, rich and intelligent peoples who will patronise us with heaps of money to buy serious books and invite us to serious conferences. Ah hope flutters gaily.
We can barely concentrate at the desk. How can we? We are low on sleep and we occassionally glance at Chris Martin’s kind eyes and we drift away.
We imagine being the young well-dressed girl who gets the hot professor’s questions right.
We wonder where to find a construction site siren so we may use it as an alarm clock after a rough night.
We pledge to use newspaper to cover our books of notes,
and save money by eating cabbage and oats,
while spending hundreds on little weekend holidays with our interesting classmates.
We hope that our suits and shoes will not be outdated when we graduate.
We vow to work very very hard;
We also vow to wow.
And most of all we dream, and how.
Free verse? I give you mad verse!
Why? This is SPAAAA.. I mean Jupsville!!