my roomie is funny (updated again)

me: Well, why don't you just crawl back down that hole then.

skylark: what am I? a golf ball?
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skylark: are you slurping your salad?
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PRincess: sorry, I like myself.
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skylark: bad velociraptor, bad.
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nutritionless: that time of the semester

So, this was Skylark's dinner the other night. A very nutritious meal, as you can see.



The recipe for this scrumptious concoction is as follows:

three scoops of vanilla ice cream
about a fourth of a cup chocolate syrup
an eighth of a cup of caramel syrup
a handful of pecans
half a bar of dark chocolate broken into chunks
half a cookie perched artfully at the top of the delicious mound

mix in that order
take pictures
consume

sleepless: that time of the semester

Life is more interesting when you are tired. You see, being in college, I don’t get much sleep to begin with. Add to that a roommate whose mood depends on the weather; church work; a strange desire to sit around and eat peanut butter; a boy; graduate applications; and another roommate who tells a story 15 times to feel validated; and sleep evaporates quicker than sweat in a Phoenix June. As I lose sleep, my mind stops focusing on everything, as if it is trying to speed read through life, and only picks up the key words. This is why life is more interesting when you are sleep deprived. At night, when I try to remember my day, the classes and exchanges with friends merge and it reads back like this:

Beeping clock! te quiero, quiero mi cama. The jussive equals a hortatory riding Ceasar’s chariot, though late. Buzzing phone! Sorry, it’s not that Lesbia doesn’t love Hegel, it’s that I think the future perfect passive looks a lot like lunch. Is he speaking Greek? Achilles, stop trying to project yourself on American literature. я тебя люблю. Sappho muses about Poe’s meter and does a jig when class ends but the Nietzschean apotheosis of man eats my chocolate. Honk! Horses are fast now-a-days. Hey, the door is broken and Em just demystified the mammoth philosophers of next door, again. You look so Rip Van Wrinkle that nocturne is a perfect aria. Sit and drink this gestalt and sleep off your bilabial plosives. ἀγάπω ὕπνος.

Thus ended my fiftieth post.

i'm begining to believe that i can't do all of it

It's funny how things can come out of nowhere and totally blindside you. I'm sorry I haven't written in a long time and I don't really see that changing much before the end of the semester. I'm really looking forward to the Thanksgiving break, but that means the deadlines for my applications are coming up as well and I sitll haven't finished my statement of academic purpose. It's not like I don't know what I want to study. It's just a matter of getting it done. I'm sick of filling out forms and the constant and pointless worry I put myself through. I really just want to call it quits but I know I won't be happy if academics isn't part of my life in some way.

For now I need to continue to fool everyone into believing that I know Greek and I need to actually learn enough latin to fool everyone with, and I need to finish these stupid applications.

Back to work.

don't push the panic button please

I had a panic moment today when I thought I had forgotten to buy my plane ticket for Chicago. For the life of me, I could not remember buying it, and forgetting to buy a ticket is just the kind of absent minded thing I would do. In order to calm myself, I promptly got on the computer and logged onto my email to check my confirmation but, to my horror, I could not find my itinerary any where. I checked all of my email accounts (about six of them), but none of them had my confirmation. I had managed to set up three meetings and two lunch dates, schedule time to hang out with two friends, buy tickets for one play and an architectural tour of Chicago, but hadn't managed to buy a ticket to get there. Luckily, this is not the case. I was signed into my account with the airline when I bought it so I finally found my confirmation by accessing it from their website, but for a few minutes I really panicked thinking that I had forgotten to buy my ticket. I'm not that big of an idiot (this time at least).

prepositional males

I have come to the conclusion that boys are like prepositions. Here is why:

1. they are confusing--really, really confusing
2. more than one could work, but one is the best
3. they are nigh impossible to figure out or master in any damn language
4. you think you can live without them, but it just doesn't work
5. they seem frivolous but nothing really works without them