Nature's Aria

Any Port

2008-03-22T13:24:00.004-05:00

Sadly my Spring Break is almost over. Especially sad because now I have to do all the research for the long papers that I've been putting off. If I research for them, it means I then have to actually write them. My desire is not that strong to begin research.

Still, I did get to go shopping over Spring Break! This amazing thrift store is close by, so I stopped in on my day off to browse. I don't use the word 'amazing' lightly here. Not only is the store separated by type of garment and then size of garment, but also by color. Are you looking for a medium green blouse? Why, then, you should go to the blouse-medium-green section and take your pick! It's an OCD dream, I swear. I picked up several pieces for interviewing outfits to calm some of my panic at the idea of venturing into the Real World. I now own suit jackets. I feel so grownup.

I have made one momentous decision about my future. I'm moving to Portland. The one in Oregon, if you're not like me and actually know that there's one in Maine as well. Apartment hunting has been so much easier since I realized that fact.

What am I going to do in Portland, you ask? Good question! I'm asking it too. I have no idea - hence the panic. Not to mention the suit jackets. That was more of a lateral move than a forward one, I suspect.

Despite almost having a degree in English, I have the nagging suspicion that there just aren't that many jobs that need me. I don't want to teach and I can't be a librarian without a master's degree, so I'm out of ideas.

Anyone need someone in Portland? Bookstore, coffee shop, ditch digger?

(Seriously, I've got skills with a shovel.)
(Well, maybe not seriously seriously, alright?)
(Unless you need a shovel-wielder, then totally seriously.)
(Seriously.)

Death and Swimming

2008-03-11T13:33:00.005-05:00

I've moved on to the biography of Dorothy Parker, What Fresh Hell is This?, which you think would be an upper after Sylvia Plath. It was at the beginning, but now I'm wading into the end of her life and it just isn't happy getting old, especially for Parker it seems. Then, eerily, I hit on the section of Margaret Atwood's thoughts about writing where she considers that all writing is an impulse to avoid a confrontation with death. Nigh simultaneously I'm drowning in death here.

Why, avoidance, do you suggest? And heartily I agree.

This means that the book I'm touting now is Swimming to Antarctica. What's it about? Why, swimming to Antarctica - and across the English Channel, the Cape of Good Hope, the Nile, the Bering Strait, and various other really cold, large bodies of water. If it all sounds a bit water-logged to you, take heart! It's actually a very engaging story that doesn't obsess over swimming terminology, water conditions, or minute descriptions of boats. Plus, there's very little death involved! It also makes one very, very glad to curl up with a sweater and several blankets with a cup of hot tea, while reading about someone else plunging into thirty-two degree water.

It's almost a pity I finished it, for my tax forms showed up. Why, avoidance, you suggest? And heartily I agree...

Books... and More Books

2008-03-07T11:28:00.003-06:00

I think my period of deadness is almost over, which is good because, for all of the many benefits, zombies don't write blog posts very well.

I suppose this means I fail at Blog365, but I actually made it further than I expected, so I'll go with the feeling of triumph at making it through over a month. Hey, it's better than I did last November!

I've been reading the biography of Sylvia Plath, Bitter Fame, lately and that is not a book to read when you're feeling low down and blue, I've determined. Not when you're feeling exceptionally happy, either. So, you have to be sort of fair to middling to read it. It's seriously limiting my times when I can read this book. In any case, she certainly had a life! It wasn't even a bad life, all things considered, if she had been less depressive and competitive.

I find myself incredibly mad at Ted Hughes now, however. Not because of himself or his relationship with Sylvia or anything, but because he burned the journals she wrote during the last years of her life. Burned them! The first two-thirds of the book is alive with her prose and turn of phrase and then you reach within two years of her death and everything's guesswork from there on out. Argh.

Her poetry is much clearer now, the book explains a lot of the symbols that cloud her verse because they mostly relate to events that happened in her life; her work is very autobiographical.

Anyway, if you've hung on this long, you should definitely read the book. Oh, and also you should read The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I've been enjoying it for my Russian lit class and it is a riot! The devil comes to Moscow for a visit and, well naturally, all hell breaks loose. Apparently, it's very popular in Russia even today. With good reason! It almost makes up for the fact that the next book on the reading list looks as though it could substitute in for a brick in a pinch. Seriously, I'm afraid of it. I might slip a disc trying to heft it up to read it.

I Was Dead

2008-03-04T18:24:00.001-06:00

... but I got better. Well, am getting better. I'm only mostly dead right now.

Proust VII (WOL)

2008-02-11T12:13:00.002-06:00

Oh Mondays, how I hate thee. Not to be cliched or anything, but there is a distinct lack of breathing space on Mondays. And sleep. Oh sleep, how I miss thee.

Question #7: What is your greatest extravagance?

Finally, an easy one! Books. No contest. Textbooks, fiction books, library books - my bookcase overfloweth. Literally, I'm afraid.

What about you?

And on the Sixth Day There was Proust (WOL)

2008-02-10T12:13:00.002-06:00

My favorite day of the week! Now why doesn't the questionnaire ask questions about that? I have an answer for that. Maybe that's why.

Question #6: What is the trait you most deplore in others?

What is with all the hate? Why couldn't we be asking about the traits we enjoy in others? I don't like insincerity; I have to waste time trying to figure out whether I should believe someone or not which is not the most enjoyable way to spend a conversation. I don't like crudeness, either. I don't think humor that markets to the lowest common denominator is funny on TV and I still don't think it's funny when someone tries it in person. Especially when someone in person says something from TV that they thought was hilarious. Shudder.

What about you?

5 x 1 = Proust (WOL)

2008-02-09T12:13:00.001-06:00

Did you know that some banks are not open on Saturday? Today was a learning experience.

Question #5: What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Well, that's a downer. I would guess that I dislike how much I procrastinate and actively avoid doing things I dislike. I would get so much more done if I would do it now, but there is so much that I would rather be doing!

What about you?

Proust 4.0 (WOL)

2008-02-08T12:13:00.002-06:00

Finally, finally Friday. Sweet, sweet Friday. Wait, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to go to class today. Um, oops?

Question #4: What living person do you most admire?

Argh, what is it with people questions?! Sigh. Well, I guess I would have to say that I admire those people who people who see injustice and try to help. The people who head out to third-world countries to do whatever they can to make people's lives a little better. Those who stay in their own country to help those who are so often ignored. I suppose that isn't really one living person - but I think I'm glad that there is more that one of this sort of person. It gives me hope.

What about you?

Proust the Third (WOL)

2008-02-07T12:13:00.000-06:00

Opened library. Brain. So tired.

Question #3: What historical figure do you most identify with?

Um, what? Well, I've always liked the poetry of the early American naturalists. Granted, I can't identify with being a wealthy male who likes to camp out in the woods for months on end - but the beauty of nature is an especial province of mine. Right, so Emerson it is. I'm going to bed now.

What about you?

Proust Part Two (WOL)

2008-02-06T12:13:00.003-06:00

Yay, I like having this questionnaire! It's cuts out all the time I spend staring at the blank page (or screen, if my internet ever worked) thinking, "Um, what did I do today? I'm pretty sure I woke up - right?"

Question #2: What is your greatest fear?

So this one is hard to answer, simply because I'm afraid of so much! People, dogs, failure, slipping on stairs and careening to an untimely death. The dogs-one is probably going to be a problem if I decide to become a mailman. Which I'm considering. Except for the whole 5-part test, it sounds like a pretty great job! I think this question got derailed, but it's still answered: Dogs! Because they might lead to failure - or my slipping on stairs.

What about you?

Proust: the Beginning (WOL)

2008-02-05T12:13:00.001-06:00

I am so thankful that next week, I only have to open the library on Thursday. 7:30am opening time is insane - as are, I believe, the people who are always waiting for it to open. 7:30? What do you possibly need from a library at 7:30 in the morning?

On a non-complainy note, I found an old Proust Questionnaire that my poetry professor gave out a few years back. I thought answering that here would be entertaining - and would prevent me from having to rack my brains for ideas for awhile!

Question 1: What is your idea of perfect happiness?

I'm always fairly happy curled up at home with a book and a hot drink. I'd probably be happier had I a certain future, so let's say curling up as aforesaid after a productive day doing something that, if not happiness-inducing, is at least not ripping my soul to shreds. Ooo, with a cat on my lap. And a blanket. Yes, very satisfying.

What about you?

Dude

2008-02-04T19:38:00.000-06:00

Conversation overheard on my lunch break:

Busboy (after distributing several sandwiches and collecting the numbers for them from the tables): Dude! (Holds up two of the laminated cards, which read '13' and '42.') The two best numbers at one time - this is so my day!

Sandwich-making-person: Yeah, dude, it's the little things, right?

I couldn't decide whether I should take heart that they were enjoying life or laugh at the copious use of the word 'dude' while doing so. I just ate my sandwich and smiled. After all, I was number '13,' maybe it is my day, too. Dude.

My Favorite Day (WOL)

2008-02-03T19:33:00.000-06:00

I think Sundays are my new official Favorite Day. I don't have to go to class or work or meetings, I can just curl up with my books, take naps, and run silly errands simply to enjoy the weather. My kettle is bubbling, the dishes are sparking, and I wish I could find a job that let me curl up at home and forget the world outside my window even exists for hours on end.

Imbolc

2008-02-02T21:07:00.000-06:00

As it is Imbolc, a holiday which I believe celebrates creativity and poetry as well, I would like to celebrate as well and share a poem - but I am far too nervous! Ah well, maybe next year I will lose my fear. In the meantime, I am going to go light my candles and write out my celebrations. Hopefully you all enjoyed this day of creativity and rebirth in whatever you turned your thoughts towards.

Snow and Stuff (WOL)

2008-02-01T21:07:00.000-06:00

Career Planning is becoming my least favorite class of all time. It's not hard or anything, it's just that I sit there for an hour three times a week and try not to visibly panic about my future. Everyday job hunting seems to grow into a bigger and bigger monster - pretty soon he's going to invade my nightmares!

But I will try to Not Panic. Try, being the operative word here.

The rain yesterday turned into sleet and then snow. The world looks like some silly fairy tripped along and threw a layer of soft whiteness over everything by accident. I'm willing to be so generous with my description now that I'm safely back in the warmth of my house. Yesterday, after I deiced my car to get groceries there were several other descriptors used that revolved more about demonic forces than fairies. It's already melting, though, and I think by this afternoon it will all be vanished and leave us wondering if we made up the wintry morning out of our under-caffeinated heads.

My parents, lovable as they always are, mailed me a package that contained a jor of my Uncle JD's popcorn and a contraption called a 'whirly-pop.' No, I am not making that up. You put the pan on the stove, add oil and corn, then attach this strange-looking torture device to the top. Once it starts popping, you turn this handle until the popping stops and - like magic! - delicious popcorn. Yum, popcorn. With salt, lots and lots of salt. It made for a very good dinner.

Yay February! Let's hope it's a good month - we even get an extra day of it!

Go Look Up Babel... Now

2008-01-31T09:43:00.001-06:00

So cold! The weather has morphed from the loving calm that sailed through the beginning of the week to this she-demon force that rails wind and rain upon us. I'm watching the weather from my desk through the side doors and I do not want to leave here to go to class. The rain is falling in a sheet at a 45 degree angle. A 45 degree sheet, I stress! I have no umbrella. Is class all that essential in the long run, I ask you? I think not. But, we're discussing Babel today in Russian. He is quite the trip - funny and morbidly depressing all at the same time. Isaac Babel, go look him up. Right now. (I can see you not moving. Shoo!) For him, I will head out into this - it's not as though I don't like rain. It's nice to wander in when it's warm and lovely to listen to at all seasons indoors - but it's cold. I don't want to walk in it, just listen to it - especially since I'm going to get dripping wet and then have to squelch through class. Sorry, this is becoming perilously close to a whine. I will close before I descend into a sulk or - horrors! - a whinge.

Chocolate... Yum (WOL)

2008-01-30T09:33:00.000-06:00

So-late. Must-keep-eyes-open... (snoozing sounds) Work and school have taken a dislike to me lately - I might need to sacrifice a chocolate cake to them this weekend to get back in their good graces. Yum, with lemon icing. No, strawberry! Well, maybe lemon... I'll get back to you on that decision. I just struggled home after my late class on Japanese literature. It went pretty well, I loved the book for this week. It's called The Broken Commandment and it's absolutely beautiful prose. He was heavily influenced by the French naturalists while he was writing it, so not only is the story captivating, you get an incredibly detailed and lovely image of the world that Segawa is moving through. For those of us without the luck to have ever been to Hokkaido, it makes you feel almost as though you have seen those mountains and valleys - and that you desperately want to return. I also learned quite a bit about the class system in Japan during the Meiji, which was fascinating all on it's own. There's my recommendation for your week: chocolate cake and The Broken Commandment - go forth and indulge!

Catsday (WOL)

2008-01-29T09:25:00.000-06:00

Today was a great day - despite even having to get up at six in the morning. After work and classes, I went out to lunch with the Best Roommate Ever (BRE) at this new Asian restaurant in town and then we went out to the Second Chance Animal Shelter and played with the kitties for a couple of hours! They're so cute and nearly all of them were lovable. There were a couple who were very, "Right, well you can talk to me, but there will be no petting - I'm not sure you're worthy." Very dignified cats, they were. Then there were several kittens who went mad when they discovered that there were new playmates and the cats who really just wanted to take over our laps and be snuggled to death. Very relaxing. I was all over fur when we left, but I definitely want to make time to go back. There are kits in need of cuddling - how can I resist?

Doors and Doors

2008-01-28T21:59:00.000-06:00

Yipes! Sorry about so many Written Off-Line posts at once, but it was quite the busy week. Well except Sunday - but I wasn't driving to campus to post blogs on my day off! I love you, but not that much.

On a completely unrealted note, I decided today that I like side doors. Front doors make you feel majestic, of course, expecially if they're ornate in some fashion. Side doors, however, seem as though they are letting you in on a secret, giving part of themseves to you as a gift. You 'enter' a front door, but you can 'slip in' through the side. Much friendlier, don't you think?

Dozy Days (WOL)

2008-01-27T21:56:00.000-06:00

Today has been a very homebody day. I didn't have to work (Hallelujah!), so I just curled up in bed with all the books I needed to read - and maybe a few I didn't, heehee - and luxuriated the day away. I still didn't get all the reading I needed to done, it piles up so fast, but I feel so much happier and relaxed. Truly books are mana for my soul. Yay Sundays!

At Dusk (WOL)

2008-01-26T21:54:00.000-06:00

The sky was perfect tonight at the very first touch of dusk. The clear blue sky with smokes of white almost-clouds gleaming proudly, as the darker fingertips of dusky-gray began to steal around the curling edges of the sky. I love the word 'dusk.' It's a very different thing than 'twilight' or 'sunset.'

Coming Up Roses (WOL)

2008-01-25T21:46:00.000-06:00

My headphones gave up the ghost a few weeks ago and fell all to pieces. They had a good, long life - for headphones - and I mourned them appropriately. I went looking for a new pair today at Walgreens and finally managed to find the perfect pair. I'm picky with headphones. I don't want normal ones that smash your hair down and I don't want earbuds (OW!), I like the ones with the ear pieces all by themselves. Surprizingly scarce, they are. But I found them! Anyway, Walgreens already had all of their Valentines stuff up (big surprize) so I went to cuddle a few of the bears. What should I find instead? Candles. I'm always susceptible to candles, but these went one step further. Rose-scented candles. Real ones, that actually smell as close to a rose as you can get without being creeped out, rather then the main lot of supposedly rose-scented candles clearly made by someone who had never smelled a rose in his life. Or did so only with a very strong head-cold. I gave in to them almost immediately and they are now decorating my bookcase. I know that when I feel low, all I will have to do is go by and inhale to feel straight-away transported to a rose garden. And who can feel unhappy surrounded by roses?

Yoga Daze (WOL)

2008-01-24T21:39:00.000-06:00

Yoga was excruciating today. I'm afraid that I'm never going to have much else to say on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when I'm dealing with the aftermath of my reckless Mondays and Wednesdays - it's so very much in the forefront of my mind. Not to mention my arms, my legs, my neck, my abs...

Happy as a Sunday (WOL)

2008-01-23T21:42:00.000-06:00

Have you ever wondered about the phrase 'a month of Sundays' ? I heard it today and it has been plaguing me. Does it mean a month with all the normal Sundays in it - if so, why not just say a month? Or is it thirty Sundays, which would be what - seven, eight months? Doe sthat seem likely? Hyperbole, I know. It's just a phrase, but when you think about them do phrases ever make sense? 'Happy as a clam' - how can clams be happy?! Even if they were, how do we know they are all the time happier than your average human being? These things frustrate me... and take over brain space that should be concentrating on my growing mountain of reading. Oops.

Never Say Never

2008-01-22T20:20:00.000-06:00

I hate being cold. This is no surprise to anyone who knows me or has read too many of my blogs. Yet I realised today, as I marched towards the bus freezing my nose off, that I never feel so vibrantly alive as I do in the cold. The shape of my lungs as the ice slips through them, the curve of my nose, the arch of my cheekbones reddening in the cold, my fingers and toes and ears tingling down to the marrow, everything seems immediate.

I hate being cold, but I think I might miss it if I could never be cold again.

This Post Brought to You By the Color 'Green'

2008-01-21T18:25:00.000-06:00

I managed to finish off And Then today, which did end as unhappily as I predicted. I think. It's somewhat hard to tell. It all ends in a swirl of red, which I took to mean that he had a) committed suicide b) been killed while in delirium or c) gone mad. Unless there's some other interpretation I'm missing, I count this as an unhappy ending. My favorite, of the options given, is that he was killed in his delirium. I don't think he had enoguh gumption to actually commit suicide, but dying would be an infinitely kinder death to him than continuing to live, mad or not. Plus, there was a mention in the book that it was only acceptable to read about a character who had flouted society for love and like them if they wound up dying in the end. Despite not knowing how much I actually liked the main character, it would be very poetic if that quote came full circle.

I talked to a friend today who has just come back from field research in Mexico. Apparently they camped in an active volcano for over two weeks while they examined the wildlife in the area. If you said, Pardon me? when you read that, then you are in line with my reaction precisely. He explained that it was generally only mild activity - boulders, small lava flows - and that other scientists had been watching for the big explosion that's due to arrive, so they were never in danger. I, of course, was still stuck somewhere around small lava flows. Yet I bravely moved past and listened to how beautiful the area was; it did sound nice, he was in the southern part of Mexico in a tropical forest high up on the lip of the volcano. The only drawback, he admitted, was that every single plant fought back and tried to stick them.

I would like to see a rainforest, though preferably not one in a volcano. I can almost imagine how very green it must be, but not quite because while it's easy to focus on how green one leaf must be, it's harder to get the perspective on an entire glade greener than anything I've ever seen. Still, the 'almost' is a very pretty picture, taken nearly entirely from Alabama forests. When I moved to Alabama from my southern Idaho desert, I decided that green was going to be one of new favorite colors right along with blue when we drove into the very first forest. It would be hard to be indifferent to green living down there, it surrounds you so completely. In the summer, I swear you could have drowned in green, if you weren't so busy trying to figure out what joker had switched out all of the air for water when you weren't looking.

To See or Not to See (WOL)

2008-01-20T18:10:00.000-06:00

Entry for 01/20:
I was very ambitious today, to make up for yesterday I think, and completely rearranged the living room. When I moved in I only had a vague idea of how I wanted things to be, so the furniture mostly stayed where we carried it in, which was the most ridiculous setup. It was a configuration that actually managed to work against every available light. At the desk I faced away from the lights, in the chair I couldn't even acknowledge a light to face away from. Now everything is greedy of light, which is just the way it ought to be.

I'm trying to convince myself that buying reading glasses does not mean that I'm getting older or that I'm doomed to go blind by the time I'm fifty-two. I read somewhere that reading with your regular glasses or contacts in, if you're nearsighted, can actually cause your vision to worsen, which would explain my steadily decaying eyesight. I'm not about to pop my contacts out everytime I read during the day, but I generally wear glasses at home, so I could just switch between the two. Yet, is this not a sign that the end is, if not near, at least approaching? I can see myself now wandering around looking for the other pair of glasses that are neatly perched on top of my head. Forgetting to switch glasses and thinking that my eyesight has failed completely already. I'll be the stereotype of an old woman with glasses - all at the age of twenty-one!

But I think I'm going to do it. Anything for my eyes, I can't imagine not being able to see one day, I've always had a horror of it. The grim spectre seems to be getting closer, too. My glasses were late getting in at the doctor's, so my parents had to send them to me. Well, apparently they tried them on before they sent them. Over the phone, they said they were trying to see how they would look on, but that they couldn't see anything through them and that I was halfway to blind! I know they exaggerate, but it was an unpleasant thrill up my spine. They both wear glasses themselves and, when I used to play the game of 'Let's Trade Glasses!' (Did anyone else play that in elementary school?) my parents' were the ones that always made me dizzy. I used to put my mother's on, when I was sent to find them from where ever she had set them down, and pretend that I was exploring a strange, new world until I would start to feel nautious.

It's sad to think that I can't go back to that world anymore.

Unhappily Ever After (WOL)

2008-01-19T17:50:00.000-06:00

Entry for 01/19:
Today is for certain a lazy day. I'm just going to sit about and read my heart out until I have to work. Right now I'm trying to blaze my way through And Then by Soseki. It started out fine, it's slow and philosophical, but I don't mind those type of books so long as the philsophy is sound and the scenery beautiful. Both were just as they ought to be and I was perfectly fine wandering through the life of a character who has no ambition nor inclination to have a sound opinion on anything, when I suddenly walked into the middle of a love triangle and everything has gone downhill since. I dislike sad endings and I know this is going to have one, I just know it. Hence, progression on the novel has slowed considerably.

I'm also reading through a stack of futurist poetry for my Russian lit course, and a bit of proletariat poems as well, which is interesting. Sort of. Some of the poems just basically say, "Yay new order! We rule!," which isn't very exciting to read, but the authors with a pinch of creativity to them are quite good. I've also learned that the first sci-fi novel was written in Russia during this period. It's called We by Zamyatin and it's fascinating, though I'm nearly sure already that it's going to have a sad ending, too.

Why can't they let there be a bit of happiness in the world? There's enough sadness in reality. If book-people can't even contrive happy endings what does that say for the luck of the rest of us?

Seasons (WOL)

2008-01-18T17:37:00.000-06:00

My internet connection went yet again and I only came to campus to work this weekend, so I wound up writing my entries offline again. From now on, I think, I'll just put (WOL) in the heading. It's really just to keep it straight in my own head, anyway. That way you won't have to read a preface to everyone of my articles, eh?

Entry for 01/18:
Last day of the first week, finally. It seems so hard to believe that at the end of the semester I'll look back and say, 'It all went so fast!' Right now it seems as though the next sixteen weeks stretch out indefinitely. Not that it's altogether a bad thing. While I'm anxious to have my BA over with - and how weird it is, to think of myself as a BA, it seems I should have to be much more sensible then - I am somewhat ambivalent about life 'on the other side.' If I had something to look forward to it might be different, but June looks just like a question mark from my January perspective.

I find winter such an easy time to have melancholy reflections. It's much harder to concern yourself with the fate of the world on a spring evening, when you can smell the rain in the breeze and the earth looks as though someone brushed a film of green-ness over everything. Winter, though, however beautiful it may seem by turns, is very dark. The sky is mostly pearly-gray and the trees arch black-lacy fingers strikingly against the air; colors are muted and everything seems to slip into sepia tones. I feel certain that the writers of books that claim to be 'reality' and are definitely depressive must have written them all of a wintertime. How could it be possible to write them on a May afternoon!

Limerick Day!

2008-01-17T15:05:00.000-06:00

In Oklahoma once was a girl,
Who had short hair with nary a curl,
The wind with a snap
Abducted her cap
Then made it nod to her with a twirl.

Weather Wise

2008-01-16T15:05:00.000-06:00

I hate not having an internet connection all my own. Sigh. Once more here's what I wrote yesterday, but didn't get to post.

Post for 01/16:

The weather's turned bitter on us out here. This weekend it was as a fair maiden smiling upon os, but the maiden suddenly has a raging hate on and I am so, so cold. I'm not sure what the temperature is, but I don't think it would matter, it's that wind. It had a two-pronged attack this wind. First, wraps around you in constant tiny gustlings so that you never have a chance to get warmer and then, once weakened, it throws sharp and lengthy waves of cold air against you, stripping away any little pockets of warmth you might still possess. It is a sneaky wind, sly thing, and I don't want to have to leave my cozy, warm abode for my evening class. It's certain to sneak along behind me and freeze everything.

And So It Begins

2008-01-15T20:55:00.000-06:00

My first day of classes went. The professors are engaging, the subjects (today was Logic and Survey of Russian Literature after 1917) are interesting, but I sense... I sense... a whole lot of reading in my future. Which is my fault, I know, but these things are hard to rationalize when your bookcase is threatening armed mutiny.

Still today was just basic intro stuff: you're in the right place, if you're a slacker get out, here's what you're graded on, and now for a brief introduction... though I am impressed that the Russian prof managed to shove all of Russia's history before 1917 into one lecture. My hand is holding a grudge, however. That woman talks so fast! Practically before my pen was uncapped, Russia's Eastern Slavs had been influenced by the Vikings, invaded the Byzantine empire, and converted to Christianity gaining a written language.

Despite my initial fears, the Russian texts don't weigh more than a block of cement, mainly I think because we're not look at the age of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. There is one, however, that looks quite intimidating - moreover because I've yet to meet a Russian novel with a happy ending.

Logic (so far) seems much easier. I even have my first deductive argument right here! :

If Sunny does not begin the Russian text now < Sunny will rend her garments and gnash her teeth later
Sunny is petrified of the Russian text
There is rending and gnashing in Sunny's future

Nothing. Literally.

2008-01-14T20:53:00.000-06:00

I've only got three minutes before I have to dash to a meeting - which I forgot about until two minutes ago. I have nothing to say moreover, I have nothing to say that sould be said in three minutes. Well, I mean, I guess nothing could be said in three minutes easily. Unless, of course, it were one of those 'meaningful' nothings. You know, like you read in books. Pregnant pauses, charged silences, electric moments. Those probably take more than three minutes. Well, maybe not a pregnant pause. A pause seems to indicate, by the 'pause' definition, less than three minutes. Otherwise it would be a pregnant 'moment' or a pregnant 'interval.' Have you ever wondered about the use of pregnant in that case. I mean I guess it could be a pause 'full of' something, but literally it seems to be a pause 'in a prolonged gestation period that will bear forth a child in less than nine months depending on how big the pause is at the present moment.' Which I suppose could work, but it would take more than the nonexistent three minutes I haven't got left to figure it out. Toodles folks!

A Post That Basically Says Nothing

2008-01-13T11:49:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, the internet connection that I've been, um, 'borrowing' at home went kaput, but I wrote down my blogpost instead! I shall not fail at my quest so early in the year, at least in August I could feel some sense of accomplishment. Post 13 would just be sad.

My post for 01/13:

So I got news back today that an opportunity that I've been working on since late November might be bearing fruit. I'd like to tell what it is, but I'm absolutely terrified of jinxing it. I know it's silly, but I haven't told anyone about it yet. Over Christmas break, I kept thinking that maybe I should mention it to my parents or Redhead, but I just couldn't do it. What if I told them and then it didn't pan out? I would spend quite a few nights wondering if it would have gone better had I kept it a secret.

Besides, this way if it doesn't work out, I won't have to deal with them sympathizing with me. I know they mean well, but I'd rather just forget about it and move on. In any case, he said that he would hopefully have news within the next two weeks, so when I get word, I'll pass it along to you! Then I'll reference this post and it'll be like the end of a mystery story when you go 'Oh, that's who dunnit!' Except, of course, no one had to get murdered for my story. At least, I hope not.

To Arms!

2008-01-12T19:39:00.000-06:00

Today was a day of perils, my friends.

I got home from work quite hungry, as it was one of those inconvenient shifts that leves you not hungry enough to eat lunch before you go in and positively starving by the time you get out and ready for an early dinner. Surveying my kitchen and noting, by the fact that the alcohol is beginning to outnumber the actual food, that I need to get to a grocery, I decided to make a morningside burger, a furger if you will.

My baking sheet was in the dish washer, so I flipped a baking pan over to use the bottom, a tried and true method. :) So I popped it in the oven, flipped it at the half-way point, and lined up the onions and cheese like little condimental soldiers in happy anticipation. The timer went off and I went to take it out when I discovered that I wasn't able to grip the pan through the pot holders in a way that gave me enough leverage to get the pan out.

It was a mighty stuggle. I tried pulling the rack out, but it stuck after an inch. Pushing it back in slid the pan further into the oven. Me:0 Pan:1 I attempted again to get a grip on the sides or even the underside of the pan to slip it out, but all I managed to do was slide off the edges pushing the pan a little forwards or backwards each time. Me:0 Pan:2 Giving in, I settled for slowly inching the pan towards the edges of the rack. As the pan neared the edge, however, it made one last desperate gambit which resulted in my arm meeting the top of the oven. Me: -32 Pan:350 Degrees, that is.

After leaving my wrist under the cold tap until it went numb, I valiently returned to the fray and managed to liberate my furger. Settled between two slices of bread, covered in onion and cheese, it looked the very picture of defeat. I ate my dinner with the smug satisfaction of the victorious.

Vents and Venting

2008-01-11T21:23:00.000-06:00

I called the apartment office this morning for maintenance help because my thermostat wouldn't turn the heat on until I would flick it to fan and then back to auto. Which was fine, except that I had to do that every time it kicked off or it would never turn back on. Mornings were very, very chilly.

They were very nice, sent out not one, but two maintenance men who replaced the thermostat and were fiddling with wires when I left to head to work.

I got home tonight to discover that the house was cold. No problem, I thought, they muct just have turned the setting down low to save me money.

Nope.

Set on 75, the thermometer also read 75, but I was shivering while still in my coat. Well, thought I, guess this themostat has problems taking an accurate reading, I'll call that in tomorrow. So I turned up the setting to kick the heater in.

Fifteen minutes later, I stomp to the front of the thermostat again and glare. Flick it to fan. Listen to the whirr of air. Click it back to heat. Wait. Voila! Heat.

So now, not only do I have the problem I had when I woke up this morning, I have a brand new one because I called someone to fix my original problem. Is this irony or just pathetic?

I'm going to go curl up under several blankets and sulk with a book of Sudoku now. And hot tea.

Anticipation

2008-01-10T18:35:00.000-06:00

Ah, the last weekend approaches before the start of classes. I'm trying to bask in my free time before it all goes dwindling rapidly down the pipes. This is the point where I'm still convinced I will have all the books read and papers written and tests studied for weeks in advance. If you turn weeks into hours, you have my goals by mid-semester, and by tweaking those hours (with a big, red pen) into 'ever! before class! come on, woman, work!' you have my mantra as the semester draws to a close. You would think that, if I could predict it, I could change it, huh? But it never quite works out. It doesn't help that procrastinating is my middle name. Yes, it took quite a while as a child to work out how to spell that - too many n's, I think.

I'm off to sloth about with a book. I need to get all my reading-of-choice in before the semester starts. I always find it ironic that no English major that I know ever really has the time to do much free-reading. It's a sad, sad lot.

Tonight, Tonight!

2008-01-09T18:46:00.000-06:00

Apparently I have no life. How do I know this, you ask? Quite easily. When I went to fix the muffler, they also replaced the bulb in my right headlight, which had gone out. I didn't even know. Why, you ask? Because I haven't been out after dark since I got back. And that, my friends, is a sad commentary on the state of my life. In by dusk! It's like back when I was a kid, trying to make it home from the park before it got dark enough that the streetlights came on. I did a lot more running back in those days. :)

So, in order to test the workability of my new headlight, I'm going out tonight. I refuse to spend another night camped out with hot tea and a book. Though, y'know, I did just get some new ones from the used bookstore.... books, not tea, that is. Hmm..

No! No, I refuse to feel like a maiden aunt. Which is pretty much how I felt when I had to confess to the garage attendent that I had no idea when the light had gone out because I lack social skills. Or, at least, that's how I assume he interpreted it. So, I am going out! Where, I don't quite know yet...

(Oh, extra-special bonus points for whoever knows what song the sparse blog-title comes from. Here's a hint, the whole line goes: "Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight." Yes, very helpful, I'm sure.)

Ramblings

2008-01-08T18:01:00.000-06:00

'Tis the season to be hiring - for my boss anyway. Which means it's the season for me to be training. I don't mind it too much so long as the people are nice and interested in doing a good job, which they always are on the whole. With one rather notable exception who still makes my vision skew towards red. Yes, he is still working with us. Why? Not an earthly clue, but clearly he has some pull with divine intervention because I was ready to chuck him out after the first day. Cretin.

Ahem. But let us not dwell. It generally leads to incohate muttering of also-red-tinged words.

I find it amazing every time I train how much of what I do I never actually think about. It's like I walk around working with my head somewhere off in the distance, because whenever I'm trying to tell someone what to do in a shift I find myself having to actually walk through it and thinking things like, "Do I do this? Really?" or "Wow, I can't remember walking over here every day. Have I seen that picture before?"

So I was remembering, as I set up training times, of somewhere off in the fuzzy past when I was learning under the previous library assistant. It was winter, of course, because things are always fuzzy when they happen in winter. I think it's all the steam of winter - defrosting over a heater, the fog on glasses as you walk through doors, breaths in the cold air. My point was, however, that there was a time when I seriously thought about everything that I don't think about now, which is just strange when you consider it. When did I move from thinking, "Okay, first sort the book tags, then run these to the Dean's office. Next, shelf read this section. Alright, then go the the Reserves..." to "Hm, I wonder if these shoes were the best idea, maybe I should stick to normal flats. But the boots are so cute! Still, too many stairs. I need to run by the bookstore after my shift..." The mind is a funny thing.

Mainly I wonder if I was better at this before I got good at it. Which probably doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but I still wonder.

Have You Heard the One

2008-01-07T18:35:00.000-06:00

My library shift today felt like a joke. A really bad one.

It began with, "A farmer, a midget, and a Japanese woman walked into a library..."

And ended with me not being able to help any of them, because the farmer couldn't understand (in a southern monotone which I had never heard before and is absolutely excruciating in the long-term, which this conversation was) why I had banned him from Yahoo Backgammon.

The midget couldn't understand (in a perfectly normal voice, but one that continued long, long past the need for me to hear him restate his problem again. and again.) why I couldn't take his money for the printers (rather than the Copy Center downstairs, which I told him about three times).

And the Japanese woman, I finally figured out, couldn't understand (loudly; her's was a pretty short discussion, just at a high volume; now I understand how people in other countries feel when Americans travel and insist on speaking loudly and slowly in English as though that helps; mental note to self: never, never do this - it is monstrously annoying) why I couldn't give her a bus sticker.

I know I sit under a sign that says 'Information,' but I thought it would be generally understood that meant 'Library Information.' I don't run Yahoo, the printers, or the bus service - now leave me alone!

And yes, they did all come at me at the same time. I feel like I should have been mixing a martini while I talked. And then drinking it. Quickly.

Go East, Young Woman

2008-01-06T21:16:00.000-06:00

I got a phone call from my mother this evening, after she took a trip to Michael's with my father:

Mum: ... and all of the Christmas stuff was half-off! I picked up some things I knew you would like.

Me: (already suspicious) Well, that was sweet of you.

Mum: Yes, there were ornaments all over the walls, and they're easy to make. I picked out ones that only need a glue gun, which I have. I thought that they would make great presents for the baskets next year. And they're crafty! I'm sure you'll have fun making them for me.

Me: ... for you?

Mum: Well, you can make them for you as well.

My father didn't help much, when he got ahold of the phone:

Me: How could you take her to Michael's? Do not let her go near the Hobby Lobby sales. Tell her the car is tired.

Dad: She'd just walk. Look upon it like outsourcing.

Me: ...

Dad: She's like a major company outsourcing the raw materials to be turned into a finished product and mailed back. You're a link in the corporate chain. Like China. Or Thailand.

Me: You take my mother to Michael's and then try to make me feel better by calling me China?

Dad: Or Thailand.

Me: Let me know before she sends the box out. So I can actually move to China. Or Thailand. Without a forwarding address.

Ghost in my Head

2008-01-05T18:44:00.000-06:00

Luckily I had two days off in a row, to make up for my wasted, muffler-filled yesterday. So today I played a new computer game. Yes, I do consider that a better day. Toss up between cooling my heels for three hours while my car is gutted and then weeping bitter tears over my credit card or shouting furiously at my computer because I don't know what I'm doing? Despite similar levels of frustration, I'll take the computer. At least I can wear sweatpants, drink hot tea, and cuddle under blankets while my anger mounts.

So the game. For awhile I've been killing my spare time playing Elite Force. Yes, that is the Star Trek Voyager game and no, you may not mock me for my Trek-love. You've never wanted to blast off into space, explore strange new worlds, and bond with a group of people who could all, eerily, sell beauty products in their downtime? I thought so.

But I did not play Elite Force today. I found a new game while I was shopping over the holidays called 'Ghost in the Sheet,' which appealed to my love of both humor and the macabre. Simutaneously, even. It begins wonderfully. You're dead. (Well, wonderfully may have been the wrong word.) You head towards the light and through the tunnel, only to discover that you are now part of a dead bureaucracy and, moreover, you're the last rung on the ladder. In fact, you don't even have a rung yet, you're hanging on to the bottom, trying to hold onto your sheet. As low-man on the totum pole, you're sent out to an abandoned factory to figure out what went wrong. It would be creepy if you didn't spend a great deal of time chuckling over the quips.

So far, so good. Until. Has anyone ever played 'Myst'? If you have, then you know where this is going. It's a great game, as long as you're progressing forward. It drives people to drink, however, when they get stuck wandering in aimless circles for hours because they can't solve the latest puzzle or, even worse, they can't find the latest puzzle. 'Ghost,' my friends is the new 'Myst.' There is already a decrease in the vodka in my freezer. Don't judge until you've played it. I managed to kill the sole survivor of the - whatever - that I set loose again in the factory and now I'm wandering aimlessly around Hall A. Losing. My. Mind.

Still, I'm determined to get out of that bloody Hall A before I give up and uninstall. And return to Elite Force. At least when I'm confused there I can always start blowing up aliens with my phaser. It's very cathartic.

Muffled

2008-01-04T18:39:00.000-06:00

Ode to the flipping muffler that caused me to spend my day off at a Midas, not to mention being out two hundred dollars, rather than hibernating indoors.

Oh muffler fair,
how could you dare
disintegrate on me?

Now I am poor,
flat broke once more,
and out the service fee.

But should you choose
once more to lose
your core integrity.

Your number now
is called, I vow:
I have a warranty!

Nor Wind, Nor Rain, Nor Lack of Heater

2008-01-03T15:54:00.000-06:00

I hate being cold. With every fiber of my being. When I told my parents that I was considering going to Boston for college, they laughed and laughed while imagining me refusing to attend classes on the principle that if water has the good sense to become ice at a certain temperature we should probably have the common sense to stay indoors. One of the numbers on my pro-con list of moving to Oklahoma was: It's got to be warmer than Illinois. Why do I mention this, you ask?

The heater at work stopped working yesterday.

Yes, indeed, I went to work early in the morning yesterday, refused to take off my coat in the Reference office for that shift, then kicked the mini space heater up to dangerous levels at the Information desk, and finally - in an act that clearly represents my bravery and dedication - I went back to work this morning. A workplace that has no heat.

No. Heat.

I begin wearing my heavy coat in September. I have three sets of gloves/scarves/hats that I have been known to wear all at the same time. My only problem with my first roommate? My sincere belief that she was part polar bear as illustrated by our tussles over the thermostat. My father claims that if he set me on fire at noon on a humid day, I would still complain of a draft. When the southern baptists at my old high school would tell me that we were all going to hell, my favorite quip was that at least I would finally be warm.

I'm still thawing as I huddle under two blankets with a cup of gingerbread coffee at my feet. The spirit is mildly willing to brave these conditions, but it's easily hounded to death by the flesh smashing it over the head with a placard that reads "The hell are we doing here, woman?! It's cold!" My pay stub cannot compete with a profane placard.

I have the day off tomorrow, which is good because I'm not sure I could make myself enter a building again that doesn't inspire one to remove any layers. Though, I should probably stop looking for prospective jobs in Chicago - any place called the Windy City is most likely a bad sign. I wonder how the book editing biz is in New Mexico?

Atwood Rides Again

2008-01-02T11:39:00.000-06:00

I finished Cat's Eye at work this morning - why, yes, it was quite the busy shift - and it was disquieting. Primarily, I think, because Atwood was playing with circular themes. As I read, images, phrases, people, kept circling through the scenes; events that occured one way at a certain point came back and played out differently again. Completed, it was as though I was looking at one of those spiral-graph toy pictures. The ones where you clamped the piece of paper inside and then ran your pencil round and round the different designs until you emerged with a sheet that looked like a cross between a Christmas snowflake and blueprints for a gear. Unless the paper slipped, and then it came out as a young child's scribblings of a mountian or trees or the sun. The brilliance of Atwood is that at times it looks as though she's slipped, that her pencil has gone careening after an errant tree, but then the picture joggles and steps back later and you see that there's an even larger circle that needed that tree to connect.

Is this rambling? It seems like rambling - confused and elated, which is how I finished the book. Then, as I was conveniently already in a library and had an hour left of my shift, I looked up 'Atwood, Margaret.' Now I'm reading Alias Grace. If Cat's Eye was playing with circles, this one is a play on forms. Already, I've flipped from narrative to poems, letters to drawings, newsprint. I don't have a grasp yet on what else she is playing with, my shift ended too soon for once, but I'm already intrigued. I like a writer who is having as much fun writing a work as I am reading it.

As there's already been a murder and an insane asylum in the book, I don't think I'm improving my 2008 vibes too much. For that, a happy note: I noticed this morning, as I was shivering and attempting to speed up the car's defrosting by the powers of my eyes burning through the steering wheel alone, that ice is not really solid. When it's forming, I mean. Goodness knows it's solid enough when you're trying to peel it off of a car. It forms, though, from little snowflakes of ice, chips of water that splay across the surface until they meet another frozen pattern and another. Then they all, apparently, form a union and fight for the right to never leave the window of your car. Things are so much prettier alone.

Day One... Of 365. Oh Dear.

2008-01-01T18:23:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

Seeing as NaBloPoMo went so well - all eight of my posts - I thought I should expand my horizons. So I've joined the Blog 365 group. This is Day 1 and, hey, I'm posting! Clearly I'm off to a good start.

The holidays are finally over. I love seeing my parents and friends, but there just comes that point when you begin to comtemplate the padded walls of an institution with longing just because you'd get to be alone - and then you know it's time to go back to real life. Or get yourself committed, but that is expensive and I would have to quit my job. So, here I am back in my nice, quiet apartment.

I discovered this weekend that Margaret Atwood apparently wrote more books after The Handmaid's Tale. Why I didn't know this before, I have no excuse for, but I do now and Cat's Eye has become my obsession. There's something sweetly depressing about the book. Elaine is so vivid, so very real, and I'm not sure how my heart can sink any lower as I keep reading. Her story isn't a tragedy, it's a reality, which I think is what makes it sad - and also sweet. Like poison. You read what she sees, what she experiences through her perceptions, which gloss over the reality of what happens with the reality of what she feels at the time, then you are suddenly doused all at once with her realisations of the reality she obscured from herself. It happens over and again, as she ages and thinks that who she thought she was at a time is not who she was or is or can be, but it's a cold shock every time. I want it to be over, I want to piece all the fragments of her life together so that I know the totality of who she has become, what she has pieced together from her life, but I don't want it to end. Part of this is Elaine, but another is Atwood's language, her descriptors, the way she has of describing an object, a smell, a sound, in a way that sounds strange, but is perfectly right. There is verse in her prose.

And so I begin 2008 by describing a depressing novel. I certainly hope this is not some sort of prediction for the year. Just in case: fuzzy kittens! warm mugs of tea! soft robes and good books and smiles! There. That ought to brighten up my future just a bit.

I'm Dreaming of an Austrailian Christmas

2007-12-14T10:48:00.000-06:00

This week gives a whole new meaning to the idea of a blue christmas - as in I don't think my toes will ever regain their normal shade in my lifetime. On the bright side, I'm finally getting used to having to leave the house early to defrost my car, so I was actually on time the past two days to work! Yes, I can learn from experience. It just takes a lot of experience.

I note with some dismay that my email inbox is sadly lacking in Christmas-card seeking holiday-ers. Come, people, come let me spread my over-enthusiastic Christmas self across the country. And give me something to do - all of the internet lines are down still in my neighborhood and I'm running out of things to clean in my house. So, if you want a bit of holiday cheer to appear in your mailbox and smother the store circulars to a gilttery death, just email your address and favorite/worst Christmas tradition/memory/etc. to asunlitrose@yahoo.com.

My finals are dead and decaying in their graves (a hidden treat for you Christmas-philes out there), so I am free, free from this awful, horrible, no-good, very-bad course selection. (A treat for those of you, um, Alexander-philes?) Next semester I'm taking a whole bunch of wacky, crazy things that have nothing to do with anything relevant, becasue I am almost done, people! One more semester and then you'll have to listen to my nervous breakdown over finding a job. Oh, good times ahead.

I was out Tuesday taking pictures of the ice storm damage at a friends request, but I don't think it worked out very well. See, I was driving through the streets and when the opportunity for the best pictures came up, I was too busy navigating through the trees to actually take any pictures. The one time I tried to do both simultaneously, I almost ran into a tree. As it was in the middle of the road I have some justification, but still if I'd had to stop and get out in the cold I would have mutinied. Against what, I'm not certain. I don't see how a mutiny against winter would take very well - unless it was accompanied by a plane ticket to the Carribbean. Ooo, better yet - Austrailia! It's summer season down there right now. I miss being warm. I did my laundry yesterday, just so I had an excuse to stay in the laundry room without people thinking I wanted to steal their shirts.

I'll check my email tomorrow at work to see who has answered my desperate invitation. You all get a one day extension - then no more! I'll have to resort to looking through the phone book and sending Christmas cards to random strangers. That won't seem creepy at all.

Let it Snow

2007-12-10T14:04:00.000-06:00

I'm imprisoned in a library! Ah!

Normally this would be no bad thing, but I'm also trapped behind the Information desk. The situation is becoming dire.

I was supposed to work in the Reference office this morning so, without checking the university webpage, I blithely went to work. I wandered outside, chipped my way into the car, spent half-an-hour deicing it, drove around the fallen trees in the road, and walked into work.

So, apparently there was this big ice storm. And the university closed. But not the library - heavens no! But noone came in, really, because most people are trapped by tree limbs, so the seven or so people who made it here, once they got over their surprise, shanghaied me to the information desk. Now I'm stuck here until someone can come relieve me. I'm into hour 7 of this shift by now and I'm super ready to go home. Really.

The number of people who have trudged through the storm to get to the internet amazes me. Well, not as much since one of my regulars said it was this or staying home in a powerless apartment. Still. Not everyone here can be out of power, plus they're all really industrious. Who risks life and limb to come work on their research paper? I mean, I'm all for dedication, but seriously: finals are canceled for today. Take it as a sign, give this day a miss, and curl up with a hot beverage at home.

This unexpected sojourn has given me far too much internet time (What, study for my final? What language speaketh you?) and I've determined something. There are way too many cute things on the internet. Shoes and books and stationary and clothes. My pay is minscule here, internet, why must you taunt me? But I've also had time (Plenty of time, if time were money I could buy that shirt I saw at Anthropologie. Wait, or is the phrase 'time is money'? Because that wouldn't work at all - at this job, it would have to be 'time is peanuts.' Which doesn't make any sense whatsoever.), and I've decided that I'm feeling too Christmacy to let it all end with the present wrapping. Which I did during the ice storm - festive!

So, for all those who made it this far through the unending post, here's the deal: if you email me your address and favorite/most hated Christmas pasttime/tradition/habit/experience you will get in return a lovely extra-special Christmas card! For those of you already excited, my email address is asunlitrose@yahoo.com. For those of you still dubious - think of the joy of getting mail that isn't a bill or a circular for tires! That's the spirit. See above for my email. Now come, give me a reason to make merry again.

And if it starts to snow again, promise you'll come rescue me?

Oh Happy Days

2007-12-06T18:48:00.000-06:00

Well, I had a very long post written, but it was not a happy post. Mainly because I am not happy, and I'm tired, and I'm not happy about being tired. Again. So, instead I'm going to write down something happy from this day. I need to smile, here.

When I was sitting through class, I saw a leaf float past the window, playing in the breeze like you always see on animated movies, but never in real life. It fell in slow swings and twirled past the window, all orange-red and pretty, as though it was dancing a ballet to music that only it could hear in the breeze. It made me smile.

I wish that once you smiled in a day, it made a big stamp on that day and then nothing bad could happen. I can see the huge stamp, with yellow ink and a ginormous hand stamping 'HAPPY' across that scene. Of course, then everyone would wake up smiling so that nothing bad would ever happen. It would be cheating, I suppose, but wouldn't it be nice?

Hello? Anyone still there?

2007-12-05T11:34:00.001-06:00

So, holidays and moving for the lose, apparently. I am a NaBloPoMo failure. Such is life.

But now I have a new apartment!

It's so cute, a little efficiency, but they put in this HUGE bookcase, so all I had to do was hang drapes and *voila* instant 1-bedroom!

I thought I might be paranoied - more than usual - living all by myself, at least at first, but I absolutely love it! I don't have to worry about people being noisy when I want to sleep, about not being able to get into the kitchen, about someone walking in when I'm jamming out to the Broadway musical station, Christmas carols, and/or KT Tunstall. (For example.) Despite being rumored to be in a scary part of town, I haven't seen anyone creepy yet and I'm convinced that my neighbors - if they exist - must be somehow related to Santa Claus. Y'know the ability to sneak around a house without waking anyone up, despite decorating, eating cookies, and stuffing himself down a chimney. Did anyone else find that a little difficult to believe? Especially since I never lived in a house with a chimney. The 'magic of Christmas' was thrown about a bit, but there really was little surprise when my cousin told me Santa Claus didn't exist. I was a very cynical six year old, I guess. Either that or very logically-minded.

But my apartment. I do have a few problems finally - thank goodness! I was beginning to believe it was all too good to be true and I was going to wake up from my delusions somewhere horrific, but then I discovered that the water heater only holds enough hot water for a ten-minute shower. And then the blind fell down on me. So it's definitely real. And painful.

I've been having fun decorating, though it's been tough to stretch my decorations to fit the whole apartment. I didn't think that was going to be a problem, when I moved I had a lot of boxes. I was thinking "Wow, is everything going to fit? When did I get so much stuff? What is in all of these boxes?" Well, remember the HUGE bookcase? (Totally the selling point of the efficiency. After I toured the apartment, I pretended to need a little time to look elsewhere, but really I knew I was going to sign that dotted line posthaste.) After I unloaded all of my books onto it - and ALL of my books fit onto it, this is a new thing - I had very few boxes left. Now the rest of my apartment looks a little - empty. So, apparently all my wealth is sunk into books. If they were a valid currency, I'd be set.

Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Get Custard

2007-11-13T22:28:00.001-06:00

Well, I guess I'm out of the running for NaBloPoMo, although since I started five days late, I suppose I was never actually in the running, but still. Yep, I missed posting yesterday. My failure is as ashes in my mouth.

Such is life.

Back to the pumpkin spice! (Ah yes, just when you thought you were off the hook.):

3. Pumpkin spice custard: I learned this autumn that the Historical K and I share a love of all things pumpkin spice, so it was with delight that I listened as she raved about the fact that one of her favorite treats was back for the season. She insisted that we leave immediately to gain a delectable and I, all curious and unknowing, eagerly went along for the ride. Where do we arrive at but Rusty's. Rusty's and I are old friends, I have long had a passion for their chocolate raspberry concoction as well as a short, illicit affair with a chocolate marshmellow delicacy. In the three years that I've lived in Norman, I never knew that Rusty's had pumpkin spice custard in the autumn. I felt betrayed, wounded, slighted - and then I tried the custard.
Rusty's is forgiven, I have been bought off by sweet, sweet custard, but the sting still lingers in my heart. There were three autumns that I could have been enjoying this custard - nine months of pumpkin custardlessness! The custard melts bitter-sweetly in my mouth even now.
I guess I'll have to get the large size from now on. Just to make up for lost time, of course.

"How to Outrun Maniacs in 5 Simple Lessons"

2007-11-11T21:22:00.000-06:00

I'm honestly too tired to have much to say tonight - the pumpkin spice posts are on hold until tomorrow, so much for that 12-step program - so this will be a short entry. Actually, it's just going to be a question:

What book could you not do without? (Feel free to make up your own situation. Stranded on a beach, locked in a cell, outrunning a crazed foot fetishist. Your call.)

Till tommorrow!

Spiciness Part II

2007-11-10T23:08:00.000-06:00

Yay, I'm actually continuing this post! I sometimes have problems finishing things I start, most notably papers, so I feel this is something like the first step of the 12-step program for procrastinators. But onward to the real point of the post!

2. Pumpkin spice lattes: I actually didn't discover these amazing creations until last Christmas with one of my dearest friends, Redhead. I was visiting her in St. Louis and we were wandering through the mall, not really Christmas shopping so much as window-shopping as something to do while we talked, when we ran across a Starbucks. Normally I avoid Starbucks, if I'm going to pay $4 for coffee, Id really rather actually be able to taste coffee, but Redhead began talking about needing intravenious caffeine and got in line so I went to keep her company. So we're standing there and suddenly I see a festive chalk sign for their seasonal drinks - now I may not like their coffee, but I'm always up for sugar - so we decide to split one. Choice? Pumpkin spice. (Of course. Don't you remember the donuts?) We sit down on a bench and drink and chat; it was a very special moment, reconnecting after so many months of hit-and-miss phone calls. So I suppose Starbucks can keep on existing, even with their weak coffee. At least during the autumn.

Pumpkin Spice!

2007-11-09T17:21:00.000-06:00

I was recently reminded of my love of all things pumpkin spice by Rebecca, so you get to hear me ramble about that for a bit. Hey, it's Day 9, people, the bottom of the barrel has just begun to be scraped. Enjoy the coherent entries while they last.

I feel the need for a list for this:

1. Pumpkin spice cake doughnuts: Krispy Kreme clearly decided that I was eating too healthy one year when I was in high school and came out with these delectable beauties for the autumn. On weekends I would actually make up errands to my parents that were located in the vicinity of the Krispy Kreme just on the off chance that they would stop by when the Hot Doughnut sign lit up. If they ever read this, there will be a sudden lightbulb atop their heads, "Oh! That explains all of the times she needed pens. And notebooks. And staples. And shoes." Then I would be killed. On the bright side, I'm only now running low on pens.

One of the saddest moments of my college years, well a sad moment at the least, has been when the Krispy Kreme in Norman shut its fragrant doors. This was the place that, when my roommate at the time, the Best Roommate Ever, was set to take her seven hour practise MCAT [Edit: Practise GRE? What? Oops, changed.] we went to at ridiculous-o'clock in the morning to convince her that she was not going to come home that night a failure, that she was indeed brilliant, and that all right just-in-case we could totally move to California and become beach bums for a living if she failed miserably. Plus we had to make sure she had enough caffeine and sugar to survive the ordeal. Seven hours?! For that long, you should make it into a med program if you survive and don't run off into the night shrieking, "Chromosomes! Neutrons! Photosynthesis! Ahhhhh!" To add insult to injury, they replaced Krispy Kreme with a BBQ place. BBQ. They really think that's going to help the sense of loss?

What other pumpkin spiciness thrills my soul? Find out tomorrow! (Why yes, a cliffhanger did just occur to me. Look, I need time to come up with another topic or you'll be subjected to monologues about the awful shade of carpet at work. And no one wants that.)

Why Movies Should Not be Allowed in Our House

2007-11-08T12:53:00.000-06:00

Conversation upon discovering that our copy of Stigmata has an alternate ending:

Historical K: In the first one did the priest and the chick end up doing it at the end?
Bad Vegan: It was really vague. They were in the park with the birds and then he found the scroll-thing.
Sunny: But he wasn't a priest in the scroll scene, right? No collar.
HK: Maybe in the alternate ending there's hot priest sex!
S: But he wasn't a priest anymore...
HK: Hot priest sex!

- We watch the ending. Girl dies. -

BV: Well, I guess that means no hot priest sex.
S: Unless he's into necrophilia.
BV: Hot priest necrophilia!
HK: Wait. She died? But she was with the birds... no hot priest sex?
BV: No, HK. No hot priest sex. I'm sorry.

A Depressing Post for Those Interested in Columbian Expeditions

2007-11-07T10:57:00.000-06:00

I was searching for lost books in the stacks on Monday, an activity akin to searching for a pointy needle in a barrel full of other pointy needles organized by a blind chimpanzee on crack, when I realized one of my greatest pet peeves. I hadn't even known it was a peeve until this point, which I didn't think was possible. Can you be annoyed by something even if you don't know you're being annoyed by it? Hm, very zen, like that whole 'tree-falling' conundrum. In any case, I have unilaterally decided that, yes, I can be annoyed without knowing it for years. To hell with years of philosophical debate; I say yes, and yes it is.

Back to my point, however, I hate that I wasn't born knowing every written language on the face of the earth. And, really, what were my parents thinking?! They should have been inundating me with every known language since I was born, instead of focusing on that pesky 'learning-to-walk' thing. What prompted this stunning realization, you ask? The Chinese literature waiting patiently in the stacks. There I was innocently trying to find a book about Columbian expeditions, while wondering who actually intentionally found it to lose it in the first place, when I run across these books, hundreds of books, that I cannot read.

Telling me I can't read something? Apparently major pet peeve.

I love books, a fact that I'm sure you with your genius level skills of intuition have picked up on by now, and there should not be any book on this planet that I cannot read. It violates the laws of physics. Or something. Which led me to thinking about all those people in the world who have never had the opportunity to learn how to read in one language, let alone every language. Which led me to wondering how it must feel to pick up a book, any book in the world, and not be able to read a single world. Which led to incredible feelings of frustration, a decision to teach the entire world to read, and the recollection that I am a terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad teacher. All of which basically meant that I spent quite a bit of time on Monday morning standing on the first basement level of the library, staring at a piece of Chinese literature (I assume), and growing increasingly maudlin.

(In case you actually kept up with the plot, I did eventually go back to working, although I did not manage to find that blasted book. Though I did find two others that had gone missing. So does that count as a success?)

In conclusion, (yep, there are occasional conclusions, but don't get too used to it) I learned yesterday that the Historical K has been accepted into Teach for America, where she will go to Houston's inner city to teach kids how to read, so I now know where I'm going to donate my money once I'm rich and famous. Or maybe at any point where I have money that doesn't go directly to keeping me alive. If I can't teach, I can at least help those who can, right?

And I enrolled in a beginning Chinese course for the spring semester. One language at a time, I will take over the world! Muah, hahaha. And then I will institute mandatory literacy for everyone. And tea. Tea for everyone. Whoo, I've already gone mad with power!

Is It Better to Show Up Late or Not at All?

2007-11-06T19:12:00.000-06:00

Well, I apparently missed the beginning of NaBloPoMo. (An acronym that I have yet to figure out, though I assume it's somehow related to NaNoWriMo. Or there are two people in the world who like to make me giggle over random syllables that sound like they should be an actual word to the point where I've tried them out in sentences. Which led to more giggling.) In any case, I've decided that will not deter me from attempting to post an entry every day for the rest of November. I only missed - what? - five days? I can so catch up.

Well, I could if I had anything to say.

Oh, wait, I do have news! I'm moving on December 1st to a lovely little efficiency that is begging me to sign lease papers. Yes, I will finally have a home all to myself, so I will no longer begin the 'five-block-prayer,' an apt phrase for the way that I begin praying that there is no one in my house for the last five blocks before I can see the driveway. It has changed over time, moving from the 'five-step-prayer' in the dorms to the 'five-stairs-prayer' at my last two apartments until its current incarnation, but the presence of such a desperate pleading at least once a day for the past three and a half years has led me to believe that I am perhaps better suited to living on my own. At least until I can find a roommate who believes in the sanctity of silence, particularly when one's roommate has to get up at insane-o'clock and it's already after eleven and who the hell cleans the kitchen at eleven-o'clock at night anyway with the added sin of very loud country music? As perhaps too-convincingly evinced by that last sentence, I need to move before I consider offing my current roommates. They deserve better. After all, she was cleaning the kitchen. And then the bathroom, the living room, the hallway, the hall closet, and her own room. Cleanliness should be encouraged. Particularly after my last Roommate-From-the-Lower-Depths-of-Hades. But honestly, eleven? Midnight? One? Ad infinitum?

Okay, deep breaths.

I am very excited about moving. Partially, of course, because I'm going stark raving mad, but also because I just like to move. It's the perfect excuse to go through my belongings and organize, to clean out all the useless stuff I've accumulated, to make lists of what to pack and where to put things like books and shoes. This is the point where my friends begin looking at me like I'm speaking a rare dialect of Swahili, but I know precisely who to blame. My mother. Not only did she teach me how to move with every military order my Dad received, she also passed along the genes that cause one to take an unholy delight, generally reserved for a fully stocked dessert bar, in a completely organized room. She's also the one who taught me to read, sew, cook, stress, worry, and panic prematurely. My Dad taught me to procrastinate and got me addicted to the internet and rock music. The combination of these elements has often been disastrous.

I think I derailed my topic, but my initial points were:
1. I'm going to be blogging through November.
2. I'm moving!
3. I'm currently being driven to slowly mad.
4. But I'm moving!
5. And I'm excited about getting to pack!
6. Wow, that was a really short list for the amount of words it took to express those ideas.

Right, so I'll see you tomorrow, with absolutely nothing to say. Again. So at least you're used to it, right?

Desk Time

2007-09-18T09:09:00.000-05:00

Classes started up again, so I've been dealing with the backlog of people who are wither new and don't know how the system works (understandable) or people who have managed to forget everything over the summer. Well, or they did no research whatsoever in previous years, which I find sad, but believable.

Anyway, we're busy! Yea! I guess. I like having something to do and helping people, but sometimes I just wish the questions were a little less repetitive.

None of which has anything to do with the story that I have to share. So there's this one regular character who always comes in for a guest login. He seems fairly normal, for a regular, though he has the habit of talking extremely quickly. About everything. And he changes subjects a lot, too. But he's nice and he always smiles when he sees me, so I'm alright with him.

Anyway, today sort of shook my belief that he might be mostly sane. He came in and was excited to see me (since I've been half-timing it over at the Reference office, my hours at the desk have been cut), so he's chattering away when he knocks over the display. No problem, I tell him, he is not the first person who has done that and I can fix it easily. He gets really even more excited, which I didn't think possible, and says, "Oh, I'll fix it, I'll fix it, I did it, didn't I?" He puts all the cards back in and goes to stand it back up, which is nice of him. But then he keeps putting it on sideways and then laughing - really loudly - when it falls over! Finally I reach over and put it up straight; he acts relieved that it's fixed and heads off to a computer.

Such a strange encounter. I am not ready for this at 8am.

Frustration Runs Rampent

2007-08-29T11:47:00.000-05:00

I will not murder my patrons. I will not murder my patrons. I - would anyone really notice? Wait, wrong thought.

Argh. I hate new students. Well, I suppose not all new students. Not the ones that need help figuring out how to print, or where to go, or what to do for research, or really any of the normal, polite ones.

Unlike, naturally, the patron that made me want to beat my head against the desk.

Yes, we only have that program at certain computers. No, I am not permitted to ask people to leave a computer for you, though I'm sure if you asked politely they would switch computers for you. Yes, I would be thrilled to tell your friend the exact same information. No, there really is no need to bring me the sign saying that those computers have priority for that program's users, because trust me I know what it says and it is meant as a friendly hint for people to kindly switch computers with you - when you ask them yourself because I'm not allowed to ask.

Oh, the things I wish I could say without getting fired. 'Wench' figures prominently. In the nicer ones.

I need a break.

Meanwhile At the Office

2007-08-20T19:09:00.000-05:00

So living with two people isn't that terribly different than living with one, I have discovered. Well, I mean, logically there is greater finagling over the bathroom. :) But, other than that, we cohabitate pretty darn well, I do believe. I suppose it helps that we all have insane schedules and aren't even home all that much.

I started cross-training in the Reference office today, which mostly consisted of me trying to figure things out without asking too many questions of my lame boss. I mean lame in the literal sense - he got himself kneecapped by a drunk in May and just returned to work a few weeks ago. I try not to impose upon the hobbling guy too much, but he did have to show me around the back of the Circulation area to where the Reference department hides the reserved section that I have to update periodically. It's only been one day and I've already discovered more to the library than I ever knew existed! I thought I was pretty conversant with all the levels and hidden staircases, but there are office sections that I never suspected of existing before. I think it's kind of cool, that the working parts of the library are so well-hidden that you never get the impression you're in a very peculiar sort of office building.

If you couldn't tell by my blabbing, I love the Reference job so much more than the EIC desk. I actually do things! Things that don't involve telling people for the millionth time how to print or where the Library classrooms are located. I wish I could completely transfer, but for now I'm stuck working both posts. Maybe I will grow as tired of the office, though, after I've worked there awhile. It could, I suppose, simply be the new experience, but I actually enjoyed the sorting and wandering amuck and filing, so I don't believe my opinion will alter.

If it does, please do me the favor of not mentioning this post. Who am I kidding? I'll probably mention it myself and laugh at my naivete. "You silly girl, how little you knew then, of the wide ways of the world, of the flight and fall of human emotions!"

Um, wow. Maybe I should get some sleep.

Invasion

2007-08-17T11:37:00.000-05:00

I didn't really intend to post again so soon, but I just realised that my home is being invaded about this time. All summer, it's just been me and the Bad Vegan (pseudonyms are fun!), which has worked out pretty well. I work all morning, she works all night, and I love solitude. We get to chat in the afternoon, but then I have the whole lovely evening to waltz about the house singing crazy-loud and whatever I want.

Now comes the Historical K.

It's not so much the threat of lacking solitude, although I would be lying if I said that did not worry me, so much as the little things that might change. The Bad Vegan assures me that she is compulsively neat, which is a definite plus, and I am fond of her. But! It's the silly things that worry me. What if she's in the kitchen on Sunday mornings and I can't bake bread? What if she does her laundry on Sunday afternoons, too? The Bad Vegan has come to (at least) tolerate my singing and dancing and old movies, but what if I freak the Historical K out?

I know I'm being ridiculous. We have talked before and we outnumber the Bad Vegan in liking chocolate by the barrel, baking at all times of the day, and romantic comedies in overdoses. I like her and she will be great to live with.

I just want to write in the early evening at the kitchen table.

A Beginning

2007-08-17T09:37:00.000-05:00

I think that everything has settled out nicely here, though I do want to add some websites and whatnot. Which is nice, because it gives me something to do at work - where I am now.

Yep, working here in Libraryville.

I'm bored. But I think that probably goes without saying.

I'm sure I'll regret those words next week, once the freshmen begin rolling in with questions designed to make me believe that they have truly never stepped foot inside of a library before.

For right now, though, the only things I have to worry about are the construction workers roping off computers with abandon and why my earplugs won't stay in.

And why there is a latex glove over the fire alarm.

Oh verily, bliss, indeed.

Welcome!

2007-08-16T21:17:00.000-05:00

Well, this is my new home. Come in! Enjoy yourselves, while I try to figure out what the heck I'm doing.
Feel free to giggle a little. But not a lot, capeesh?