this post is totally metameta

This blew my mind.

So my favourite words are usually prefixes: quasi-, ante-, meta- (I'm an Oxford student, ok, allow me to fulfil at least SOME of the stereotypes of being a pretensious ass).

BUT.

GUESS WHAT.

The use of 'meta' in metaphysics, metafiction, metaemotion as meaning "about", or "an abstraction of" or let's put it simply, the physics of physics (philosophy) fiction about fiction, emotion about emotion etc is BASED ON A MISINTERPRETATION of the original use of 'metaphysics'! 

BRB MIND BLOWN.

In Ancient Greek, "meta" links to "change" or "after, higher, beyond" (all of which come from the Proto-Indo European root "*me-" which has to do with "in the midst of", like, in the midst of something suggests being interchangeable suggests change i dunno PIE is a hot mess) ANYWAY originally "metaphysics" refered to that which was after the Physics, i.e. after Aristotle's writings on physics. It did not mean "scientific thought beyond actual scientific thought" i.e. philosophy.

I'm so heartbroken! No longer can I say "that's so meta"! :(

... or can I?

Listen, this is my favourite things about languages. Words can change meaning and the new meaning is just as legitimate as the old one. Even more so, in this case. Think of all the words which have changed meaning and whose older meanings are now defunct and coutnerintuitive: punk (whore), awful (awe-inspiring), prove (test). 

Languages change, evolve, grow, breathe, shape history and are shaped by it. This is why I get so irritated about people who are pernickety about 'correct' usage and 'original' meaning not changing. No, meta did not originally mean what it means today. That doesn't make its current users ignorant or wrong. It makes them progressive without knowing it.

Languages are wonderful.

O HI THAR I'M A LINGUISTICS GEEK

career change, age nineteen

Guess what? I'm 19.
Guess what else? That means I have huge changes of heart every five minutes at the drop of a hat.
And guess what else? I don't want to work for charities any more. At least not long term - definitely for a few years after Uni. But it's hard work and you need a a strong will and psyche. The reason I was into the charities idea is the travelling and the doing stuff while travelling rather than just gazing out of a hotel window. And that's definitely the WRONG reason to go into charity work.
So forget that.
My newest career aspiration: I want to work in TV.
No wait come back I'm not kidding.
I used to want to be a writer but that's dead and I'm happy with that. I don't want to be a writer, or an actor, or a composer. None of that creative stuff.
I don't want to be a produces or an executive - no petty politics, please, and no money handling. I've not got the smooth slick charm.
Director? Get it away from me. I would be the worst director in history. I haven't got that kind of vision. I haven't got that kind of natural authority.
I'm good at holding a clipboard. I'm good at juggling schedules and making sure everything happens on time. At the right place. With the right people.
I want to be - wait for it - an assistant director!
You know when you watch the behind-the-scenes, the making-of, the doctor who confidential? And you know how you watch it to see the actors being silly and mucking up their lines? I know I do. But then you know that scurrier, the one with a slightly haunted look in their eye and a desperate smile on their face because that's the only way to destress? The one with a headset and a clipboard and a pen and a parka?
Me.
That's me please.
Thanks.

friday

I’ve spent hours eating a box of fair trade chocolates, reading stories about life and love on the internet, going through my old photos of Orkney and allowing myself to be immersed in the television show Sherlock. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday, and I am so chilled out. Never mind the fact that my to do list reads “do vocab, Ch 12 Norwegian, 1 hr Icelandic, plan Effi Briest essay, book flights, tune guitar, read Gregorius, return form, finish translation, develop film, buy lip balm, type up lecture notes”. Never mind that, internet. I literally forgot that list, until I awoke from my stupor to the sound of my neighbour’s friends knocking on his door, giggling loudly.
Half of Oxford is out right now, drenched in alcohol and sweat and adrenaline.
Not me.
Tonight, I get my fix elsewhere.
I’ve been to India in the last hours, to the 1890s, and to the mind of a young gay man. I like my Friday evenings.