Reverse the Null Hypothesis, we're going in!

My penpal and alternate universe cellmate Elena keeps telling me to write about Pink Floyd when I have no ideas, but of course I know nothing about Pink Floyd, nor about the second choice of Edgar Allen Poe and so I am in no position whatsoever to do it. Blast, compulsive truth-telling strikes again: I have read a few Poe stories and have no desire to be depressed again by revisiting him. Alas, Elena, I can not oblige on this occasion.

Looking to the right I see a massive textbook full of the material I'm pumping into lecture notes, and to the left a stack of inexplicable mugs. Behind me... long long pause... Well, it's best not to comment in case people realise my actual madness as opposed to presumed madness. Masses of things lie behind me. Meep meep! There might be a shark called Vera, but who can say what's real?

The week ahead is my last significant time in Aberystwyth for the foreseeable future, and that's sad. It has been lovely, even in the stress and loneliness, but it is now almost over again and the mysteries of fate alone will reveal whether I can go back in the future, apart from that one Tuesday where I have to go in and finish off the lectures and pretend to not be an unemployed loon who walked in to teach them for free. Why pretend? It's actually just to confuse them because I've looked like an employed loon who walked in to teach them for no reason for the last three months.

Being employed means you are mad, but being mad does not mean you are employed. It's a pretty good indicator that you were employed at some point though, otherwise why would you be mad? Without being specific, all but one or two of the whole department seem to be raving mad, and that's including Gretchen the Tea Room Ghost. Poor Gretchen, she should never have tampered with sugar bowl...

It will be strange to not be in Aberystwyth again, that rain-soaked jewel of the mid-Ceredigion coast. It's lovely. It's a scenic blunder that is yet to be fully spoilt by the modern world, mostly because it's two hours away from the rest of civilization. It's remote, and wonderful, and just the right kind of ludicrous. In the summer the tourists wreck the place but up until then it's gorgeous. And again, it's ludicrous, oh so wonderfully ludicrous.

Oh, grog, got to keep lecture writing going...

O.