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i can't be my own hero
Feb. 10th, 2006 05:51 pmIt's funny how it's possible to hate something and love it at the same time. (That sounds all deep and proufound, but it really isn't--I'm talking about a pair of high heels. I like the way I walk in them, and they're fun to wear and awfully fabulous-looking, but they pinch my feet and when I take them off I realize my feet are actually quite pained in them. And now the parenthetical remark is getting longer than the idea, so I'm going to quit.)
In other news, I can't write the same paper for philosophy and political science--damn, no being incredibly cool this quarter. I can, however, do a lot of the same thinking and research if I do Marx for poli-sci...so I may do that. I have no other brilliant ideas at this point (though I admit I haven't thought about it much).
It's also really wonderful to walk into the fine arts building and feel like I belong there, and I have a reason for being there instead of just a yearning to be. I adore theater. (Oh, and...anyone who has more experience with getting drunk than me--do you want to give me some tips? All my verse and voice training is going against slurring my words, haha--but I really could use practice getting drunk. ...acting drunk, I mean, acting. Not getting.)
I have muscles that are sore from yoga that I didn't even know I could get sore. It's kind of weird. Also good though--it means I'm working them. Which I sorely need...haha. (Oh dear.)
Am craving fresh, crisp September apples; Folklife (oh god, I wanted Folklife so much today); trees to climb; chapbooks of poetry to read.
Hey! The Olympics start today! A bunch of us were standing round the computer in the writing center, watching NBC previews of figure skating, hooray. And being very silly, which is generally a good thing once in a while.
Right. This long, mostly pointless and disjointed entry brought to you by...Scribble (wow, that's been a while too...tenth grade, scaring Mrs. Aguilar with the alter-egos in my head...*snicker*). Ciao...back to George Gordon, Lord Byron, Romantic Hero, Great Poet, and Mad As A Lark Boy.
In other news, I can't write the same paper for philosophy and political science--damn, no being incredibly cool this quarter. I can, however, do a lot of the same thinking and research if I do Marx for poli-sci...so I may do that. I have no other brilliant ideas at this point (though I admit I haven't thought about it much).
It's also really wonderful to walk into the fine arts building and feel like I belong there, and I have a reason for being there instead of just a yearning to be. I adore theater. (Oh, and...anyone who has more experience with getting drunk than me--do you want to give me some tips? All my verse and voice training is going against slurring my words, haha--but I really could use practice getting drunk. ...acting drunk, I mean, acting. Not getting.)
I have muscles that are sore from yoga that I didn't even know I could get sore. It's kind of weird. Also good though--it means I'm working them. Which I sorely need...haha. (Oh dear.)
Am craving fresh, crisp September apples; Folklife (oh god, I wanted Folklife so much today); trees to climb; chapbooks of poetry to read.
Hey! The Olympics start today! A bunch of us were standing round the computer in the writing center, watching NBC previews of figure skating, hooray. And being very silly, which is generally a good thing once in a while.
Right. This long, mostly pointless and disjointed entry brought to you by...Scribble (wow, that's been a while too...tenth grade, scaring Mrs. Aguilar with the alter-egos in my head...*snicker*). Ciao...back to George Gordon, Lord Byron, Romantic Hero, Great Poet, and Mad As A Lark Boy.
