Thursday, March 31

Monday, March 28

/spring break

Bah. Back to class now. Late nights and lots of lists, but hopefully some chocolate-covered espresso beans will join me in my academic vigil.

Still no midterm grades. Get cracking on those novels and plays you were supposed to have read.

*heavy sigh*


Monday, March 21

ms. bean

I tend to feel a lot like Mr. Bean, the time that the Queen came to the . . . was it a theatre? I don't remember. It was very amusing. Only, being Mr. Bean, most of that stuff wouldn't really be amusing . . . until afterwards . . . :)

So yes, that is where I am now. I should go down and socialise but I am being remarkably rebellious and stalling for the space of about five minutes. Yes, my hands smell like cheese and pears and I am wearing wizard-slippers on my feet.

Shortly, I hope to see a post about France on SOMEone's blog . . . *coughs loudly* well, I suppose she won't write it while there is company around and WHY am I being so tiresome, here? On anstruther? I don't comprehend my complacent inanity.

I hope nobody RSSs this blog, it is dashed boring half the time.

And I must descend the stairs to my subjects. Excuse me.

Friday, March 18

rootbeer float time

I may not be able to go back home this summer, and so am trying to plan some nice thing for me to do involving the new Harry Potter book and other addictions that need to be fed soon. Mostly writing and reading different sorts of things, and cleaning things.

Am thinking about making my book about writing, and beginning to write, and writers. It won't be quite publishable, maybe, because it will be all in fun, but we shall see. I don't know yet. I've hardly known what all this has been about until recently.

So, yes. It may be a terrible summer and I may hate the heat and frighten myself out of my scarce wits. I am discouraged, a little. But on the other hand, I may get to go with my previous plans and all may be well. I don't KNOW. Gah, I hate that. We shall see.

Spring break is nearly half-over, and I begin to feel the push of those assignments upon me, to finish and complete. Why am I so unhappy? It seems unconscious, even. This stupid mood is taken hold of me.

Monday, March 14

Ah! si tu savais!

The kitchen isn't clean. No wonder I can't write anything.

I wish I had some kind of a muse to blame or depend upon, but I have not even got a Reader across the valley that I can glean inspiration from, watching with my spyglass (Calvino). Things keep turning around in my head--a little like standing in on of those spacious mallways watching the carousel go round and round but searching for a single feature, maybe a caricature or the decoration on the saddle of a rearing horse. I don't know how to explain it.

All rubbish. I need a subject to write about, but I can't think of one that inspires me. My familiar worlds are lost to me since Calvino's novel--they all have individual voices that I can't be sure are really their own voices . . . paranoia sets in! Ermes Marana and filling the world with apocrypha . . . I really must try to write something whole--maybe something that will be part of the unitary book, made up of all the books that we have ever read?

Anyway, I'm making dinner tonight. I like cooking (most of the time), but I wish I could write today. I did have a beautiful spurt of writing last Wednesday night:) Somehow off of my fingers came something about a teenage superhero; I laughed till I was sick that I actually wrote about a teenage superhero. But I do have a few young people in my mind with adventures of their own; I just never get enough detail to come out with anything.

Maybe I will try to write in the style of Tim O'Brien, with hypotheses and evidences and certain chapterly facts. But what to write about? Writing? We shall see. Back to the kitchen and the dirty bathrooms and laundry and wilting flowers on the table.

Wednesday, March 9

and over.

First midterm is over. What a day! Thanks to Gee-off I got my second caffeine fix of the day and was able to sit, giggling maniacally and talking to my ipod, Harriet, while my benefactor looked on in horror.

I think it went well, the midterm. It was difficult . . . *sigh* but I shan't dwell on the horrid past. Instead, I shared a meal with my mother down at the restaurant and then we stopped at a farmacia and bought things for me to pamper myself with, like herbful face masks and jojoba oil (for hair; have been using sweet almond but it doesn't warm well and heads to splotchiness).

And then we went home. My hair smells nice, and this weekend I will clean my room and enter ultra-feminine-mode where I pamper myself to death and then curl up in comfy armchair with properly shapeless sweatshirt and raggy jeans and drink cup after cup of tea, and "reading till I puke", as Danny says.

Tuesday, March 8


First midterm is tomorrow afternoon, after my grilled chicken caesar wrap (no croutons). It is the only one with close book and closed notes, so I'm bringing my compy and textbooks to cram before hand. I know it isn't great to cram, but I haven't had the time to do a long-term study . . . that is my excuse.

In other news, the new harry potter book cover has been revealed! Woot! Visit Mugglenet to see more. Button below.


WHY do some people have to write blocks of text? Why!? It is hard on the eyes and doesn't separate ideas! It also looks dumb! Why must they write interminable and disgusting blocks of text! Why why why?!

smuthering heights

I wonder how on earth Heathcliff and Catherine could have kept up a life of selfishness? They must have really loved SOMEthing. Was it dogs (no)? the house itself (no)? Sheesh . . . only the people that the narrator seems to hate seem to be actually good. My conscience rears . . . *rolls eyes*

Sunday, March 6

it occured to me . . .

Why are mermaids selfish, or always portrayed as selfish beings? Not that they are human or inhuman, but always selfish? Well, there are a few stories that come to mind where mermaids aren't selfish (actually only one: Jane Yolen's "The Sea Man ") but everything else that is not yet violated by Disney and Co. all show mermaids as being selfish. Curious. Why, is it the cold of the sea or the salt or the rocks and the shipwrecks, hoards of sunken gold inside skulls? Is it the rotting flesh? I thought mermaids lived farther out, too . . . Maybe it is just the whole thing about Homer--people can be so unforgiving of truth-tellers.


Are mermaids really selfish? Does anybody know?

Saturday, March 5


Am finished. Am sleeping. Oh yeah. Who is the coolest? ME. *sigh*

cognac is good for you.

I so cannot wait until I am all caught up with this class. One more post and them I'm done for tonight, can go to sleep. I love this class, really I do--this guy makes you think. Hum. My professor's name is Raleigh. I have dubbed him so and so he shall remain.

One more post and I am off for the night--still have stuff to catch up on, but it can wait till tomorrow! Whee! I am on my way from misery and very-lateness to very-on-time-ness and happiness. Woot. Woot. Woot.


Am done with class. Am now catching up to multimillion other classes and dancing in the hallways on my leisure time. Never thought a weekend could be so nice:)


Thursday, March 3


First essay for final exam is finished! On to the next! Break until noon, be back sharp. Mindsay blog entry today is fabulous. I love Pickwick. Have just disagreed with mother again on somebody's MBTI type. Was right last time ha ha and have more experience with person so MWAHAHAHAHA. Maybe that makes me biased? Sigh.

Anyway, First essay out of the way means great deal, because if I can finish both other essays tonight I can use tomorrow for make-up work. Yahoo!

Ok back to the grindstone.

Tuesday, March 1

a mad lib re: the Woman on the Roof with the Frenchman

One fine day, Bourge Wasey the pirate monkey went out to wife-beating some bushy eyebrows. Everything was going fine until he ran into his archnemesis, The Frenchman, in rooftop. 'Wommin!!' said The Frenchman, 'did you just wife-beating some bushy eyebrows?' Bourge Wasey simply replied 'Are you French!?!' and pulled out his ankle socks. Bourge Wasey and The Frenchman threw and hyperventilated until they were oppressive. But then they realized the folly of their ways, and patched things up over a big bowl of red wine.