Inanitites – Week 8

Jess Touschek 12 March 2010

So here we are, then. Week 8. Well, didja evah? Where on earth did the last seven weeks go? Come to think of it, where did the last three years go? Where did my LIFE go?!

This isn’t an unusual train of thought for me – for an arts student who’s looking at graduating a full two years after most of the people they left school with (for no real reason other than chronic indecisiveness), mordant hysteria is something of a default position. This time next year you’ll probably find me in a foetal position in a corner of Market Square, muttering darkly to a bemused pigeon about the inadequacies of the British job market.

At least now my misery has company. It’s countdown season for a sizeable chunk of the crew who matriculated in 2007, and trepidation/nostalgia/blind panic (delete as applicable) have become comfortingly du jour over the last few weeks.

I suspect that much of the mood can be attributed to the tyranny of the yearbook committee. I swear, 40% of my current inbox pertains to some aspect of the hallowed tome, from deadline reminders to baffling instructions about ‘dpi’ and file formats. It’s an exorbitant amount of effort for an end product that I could technically put off caring about till next year, but hey – fiddling with photos is far more enticing than my Enlightenment philosophy essay, so I got stuck in to designing my page.

Now, I ask you – has there ever been a computer program more frustrating than Adobe sodding Photoshop?  Nothing about it is logical – NOTHING. It can transform a reasonable person into a character from One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest in a matter of hours.

There was a stage a few days ago – I think it was about 3am – when I dispensed with sanity entirely and actually tried to enter into verbal negotiations with my machine: ‘Look, Mac – can I call you Mac? – I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse. You let me change the colour of this caption, and I won’t put a squash racquet through your screen, capish? To sweeten the deal, I’ll even do your updates early…..’

Of course the smug bastard (my Mac has distinctly male characteristics) ignored me completely, whirring serenely in my face. By 4am that prefrontal lobotomy was looking like the only rational option. In the end I chose bed instead, but you never know – I still haven’t finished my page. Another night like that and I’ll be chatting to that pigeon a lot earlier than expected.

Jess Touschek