And what was she, the fairy Melusine?

For some reason Modern american literature puts me in a good mood. Possibly because I like the teacher, possibly because it's one on one and therefore my thoughts are considered to be of merit, worthwhile and NOT those of a six year old, possibly because I just enjoy getting angry at fictional, spoilt, american ex pats. (They are SO irritating. Seriously, when you identify more with the characters in Brideshead than you do in with another novel there's something wrong. Although I have a *slight* thing about Brideshead, as you may have noticed). 
But regarding other things at college, they're going a bit better. I might get more one on one lessons, which means fewer hours but going at a speed which is not ridiculously slow, so that's good. And if I can stop the social paranoia I might succeed in talking to people out of lessons, which would be a good thing. That seems unlikely at the moment but if I can manage to enjoy the lessons then a lot of pain goes out of my year. And I feel like myself.

I'm listening to Kirsty Maccoll's Innocence on repeat, because it helps with the happiness, and want to recommend it to everyone, just for the fantastic bitchiness of it. She's so horrible she's almost Ciceronian, apart from the fact that she's direct.