Have you ever come across a Swampmole before? No? I bet you have. No I really do, only, you probably never noticed. It probably had a normal name. It probably looked like a normal human.
Except, when the exam season struck, am I right? Think about it – about how people coped during this stressful period, how they behaved… what they… became…
Everyone reacts to exams differently – I, for example, was the kind of person who could ‘fly off the seat of my pants’ (I think that’s how the saying goes, or at least, how my Dad says it), I winged most things; I was cockily cool about revising and studying in general. I could get away with being average with the minimal amount of effort and was content with such a status. Others couldn’t. Other people have to slog it hard. Others have to shut themselves away for months – only to emerge out of necessity; to feed and interact in the aid of study.
And that’s when they get Swampmole Syndrome.
They turn into pale and irritable creatures. They lose weight. They smear their eyes against pages and pages of case studies and reading material until they become swollen and unnaturally starry. Their fingers bleed over endless pages of notes and they go through a pen a day, maybe even an hour, they torture their pens till they run dry, they work them tirelessly till they die of dehydration.
That’s a Swampmole, a creature that will give up anything to reach the top grades; they crave them. To the detriment of their social life, bodily functions and sleeping pattern; they cannot rest till they get them. I mean they could easily acquire these grades if they wanted, in fact they could probably dig them up blindfolded, but, they have more ambition than the likes of me and my fellow slackers. They have the focus and the drive to get what they want.
That’s why I hold my Swampmole in high esteem. Her motivation, determination and complete lack of regard when it came to nutritional substances during the exam season always astonished me.
She’s a sweet bundle of fluff normally, if you’ve seen ‘Horton Hears a Who’ (I’m sorry if you have, what a waste of precious time that was…AND what was with the random musical scene at the end? Ghastly film.) Anyway, you’d recognise my friend as the yellow fuzzball called Katie; she’s the one who says ‘In my world everyone’s a pony and they all eat rainbows and poop butterflies!’ Adorable (She was the only thing I liked about that film). She has moments when she goes… spacey… and always says something outrageously amusing when you have food in your mouth. Many a time I have choked because of her nonsense, I think a frothy nose is the finale to her comedy act and she leaves it up to fate to choose her victims.
My Swampmole fuzzmonster preys on unsuspecting moments and says things that will send a contented silence into a turmoil of giggles, things like: ‘Thomas the Tank engine was boring as hell, they can’t even get off the tracks, what a life’, ‘ME NAMES BOBBY’, ‘what drink is it that has live worms at the bottom of the bottle?’, ‘where do the Danish live, in Danishland?’ and, my personal favourite, ‘you know what? I don’t really believe this whole E-Coli business in Germany’ said the week 17 people died from it in 2008.
She is a character. She routinely paints her nails purple, is the only other person out of two who I know has green eyes and she believes, like I do, that Gandalf could easily kick Dumbledore’s ass. Suckerpunch that PotterHeads. She has an obsession for things that sparkle and her collection of Swarovski crystal has certainly grown since I met her. I had never taken a serious interest in Swarovski till I noticed her drooling outside their shop window. I think my low bank balance prevented me from forming any strong attachments but the flecks of multihued light that reflected, danced, waltzed, around the store quickly captivated me too. If she could live anywhere I bet she would choose that store to squat. Another one of her charming oddities is that she hates having her picture taken; she is a demon when it comes to regulating camera angles and avoiding group shots. She will do anything to avoid them; throw her hands up, duck behind others and, if the situation is dire, will run. Her ability to dodge cameras has left us with albums from nights out where we genuinely question whether she was actually there. It’s infuriating. It’s now gotten to a stage where it’s become a sport, a test of skill to see whether you can actually catch her in a photo. If you succeed it then goes through a ruthless auditing process; a trial. If it’s nice it stays, if she doesn’t like it, she will pester you to delete it till your ears bleed.
It’s a fun game.
I miss her so much right now.
I mentioned her before, if you can remember, about how she recently abandoned myself and my Jellybean to gallivant her way across Asia and the Pacific Ocean. It’s been 5 months since I’ve seen her golden locks, since I’ve heard her German-influenced voice and poked her bosom. We three certainly enjoy poking each other’s bosoms… not in a lusty lesbian way, no indeed, it’s always been more of a possessive and comical activity while our brains were under the influence of spiritual substances… Alcohol, not drugs… we aren’t that badass. I only hope she hasn’t changed since her ramble, she is perfectly peculiar and I’ve enjoyed watching her transform during our time at university, I only ever see her as a Swampmole now and I cherish her quirks like unique pieces of Swarovski crystal.
So enough reminiscing, now, I must be off, got a cage to prepare for her return.
I’m certainly not letting her leave again. Twas too painful an absence and I shan’t risk such torment for another time… Jellybean grab those chains… and put this kitten in the trap…