Wednesday Blues

In some form of self defence for this blog, I would like to point out that today is Wednesday. Wednesday being my least favourite day of the week. I promise I will write you a happy go lucky blog come Friday, just indulge me on this midweek, mid-semester, Wednesday rant.

I've just had my mid-term evaluation. It involved my professor (yes that professor we've all dreamed about - a woman of infinite talent/excessive wit and glorious insight into writing, learning and generally existing). It was the first time I had stepped into her office and probably the first time I had ever spoken with her one and one. As I remember it (and granted my vision is clouded by this mid-week Wednesday cloud of doom) the meeting involved her asking me "how I felt the semester was going?"

In that oh so British manner that occasionally creeps up and overtakes any other sensibility I possess, I regurgitated and listed every insecurity I have ever thought about journalism and my own attempts at becoming a part of the industry. The list was extensive, and thanks to the wonder of twenty first century technology and its accompanying tools there was more than enough to cover: my writing, my video skills, my ability to point a still camera, to focus on the point of an argument, to reflect on American society and my gross negligance of technological common sense.

Somehow twenty minutes passed - or at least the clock confirms the fact that it passed, though to me it seemed like I was just getting started.

She nodded - and tried to get a word in edge ways. She eventually managed to direct my ramble towards future projects, before glancing at her watch and indicating that our time was over. I left, with a sinking sensation that I was in completely the wrong place. And that really this wasn't supposed to be my life at all. And that I was a bit of an idiot to have ever dreamed up the idea of a career in journalism anyway. And that, who let me into this school? I began to feel sorry on their behalf.

Escaping school as fast as possible I headed to my confict resolution class, where our Nigerian classmate gave a presentation that - in my the-world-may-end-its-wednesday state - seemed to describe the failure of civil society, the media, global networks and any kind of non-violent resistance.

I watched, while photo after photo described the utter oppression of the Niger Delta. My colleague outlined a system of power that meant the oil giant Shell could work hand in hand with a military dictator to destroy the rights of the poorest people in the world. Finally, just as the class was breaking, the solution came in the form of "the boys" as he calls them. "The boys" who blow up pipelines, because that is the only form of communication Shell and the government of Nigeria understands. And the way in which "the boys" form of resistance was finally creating some leverage. In conclusion, I began to wonder if I should be learning how to buy weapons rather than how to write paragraphs.

But I am home again in our pretty blue house, where weapons are hard to come by. I am kneeling on my blue yoga mat on the floor of my slightly chilly room and eating cold pizza. It's hard to imagine armed resistance from this position. It is 11.30 at night. Our day starts bright and early tomorrow and I have found one more thing to feel sorry about - a regret, at sending an emotional laden email last Sunday, without thinking through the consequences.

I heard once that almost all ills can be solved by a good sleep, some exercise and a good meal. The Niger Delta night not be fixed by then, but dear blog readers, I am off to sleep and hopefully I will awake revived and refreshed and renewed tomorrow, when I promise myself yoga and a proper coffee and breakfast. And anyhow tomorrow is Thursday so things are bound to look up - Thursday afterall is quite possibly one of my favourite days of the week.