Dear Diary
I had the most awful stomach ache the past two days, it seems to be almost over, I hope that nobody catches what I have. I am feeling much better now.
I met Ashley's newest psychologist. He seems very nice. I hope that he can help with her behavioral issues. She tried to stab a teacher with a pencil on Friday, and ran from the classroom into the parking lot where she was caught at school. It's weird because I kept worrying about her all day yesterday, I guess that I had reason to worry.
I made a new dress yesterday, and an underlace half slip in cream. They go very well together especially when I put a lace over shirt on top of them, it really sets it off. I really need to take pictures of this clothing I am making to pin it on Pinterest, in my Mori Kei section.
I have still been marathoning 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer' I looked up the cross referencing it with 'Angel' so I can watch them both in order. I am still in the middle of watching 'Lost' for the first time, have not finished the season of 'Once Upon A Time'. I need to catch up on 'Game Of Thrones' as well.
As I eat books in a day, or less, watching stuff and marathoning it last longer. I always stop a marathon of watchery for a book, but books get consumed so fast. I wish books lasted longer. I wish they went on and on and on sometimes. My book this week I didn't want it to end, and the next one in the series doesn't come out until April!
I was on Facebook last night and I got a bit of a shock. I saw a picture of someone I haven't seen in awhile, and he looks like an old man! I was just in shock to see that this person aged so much in the time that I haven't seen him. It is scary sometimes how much people age so quickly. That their lives seem so fleeting and instant at times. Another generation of people gone, I am reminded of Keats.
Ode to a Nightingale
John Keats
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,-
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:-Do I wake or sleep?
I met Ashley's newest psychologist. He seems very nice. I hope that he can help with her behavioral issues. She tried to stab a teacher with a pencil on Friday, and ran from the classroom into the parking lot where she was caught at school. It's weird because I kept worrying about her all day yesterday, I guess that I had reason to worry.
I made a new dress yesterday, and an underlace half slip in cream. They go very well together especially when I put a lace over shirt on top of them, it really sets it off. I really need to take pictures of this clothing I am making to pin it on Pinterest, in my Mori Kei section.
I have still been marathoning 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer' I looked up the cross referencing it with 'Angel' so I can watch them both in order. I am still in the middle of watching 'Lost' for the first time, have not finished the season of 'Once Upon A Time'. I need to catch up on 'Game Of Thrones' as well.
As I eat books in a day, or less, watching stuff and marathoning it last longer. I always stop a marathon of watchery for a book, but books get consumed so fast. I wish books lasted longer. I wish they went on and on and on sometimes. My book this week I didn't want it to end, and the next one in the series doesn't come out until April!
I was on Facebook last night and I got a bit of a shock. I saw a picture of someone I haven't seen in awhile, and he looks like an old man! I was just in shock to see that this person aged so much in the time that I haven't seen him. It is scary sometimes how much people age so quickly. That their lives seem so fleeting and instant at times. Another generation of people gone, I am reminded of Keats.
Ode to a Nightingale
John Keats
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,-
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:-Do I wake or sleep?