(no subject)
I'm so out of it, I can't even tell you. This is a sure sign that I will menstruate soon. Perfect way to make male queasy: Shout at the top of your lungs, "I menstruating bloody menstrual chunks!" It's the chunks that gets to 'em.
I have found that today I have no patience for anyone or anything. The crowded halls tick me off and the idiocy of my fellow peers astounds me. I need to get my clothes in order for the belly dancing performance. I need to work on my prom dress. I need to work on the pants I started months ago. I'm such a slacker it amazes me. Oh well. I'll get it done. Can't be too hard.
I don't really have anything to say but I'm fidgety and need to keep my fingers busy. They dance across the keyboard as if they have something truly important to say and yet I know they don't. They have a mind of their own and bounce up and down the board as if the keys are hotter than a spitting fire.
I just picked out a mat board for one of my pieces of work for digital media. I worked on my tiger painting but now I'm going through the disgust stage. I like the face but the body is all off. I like how the plants are going but I know what people are going to say about it before it gets complete. That's the thing. I shouldn't care so much about what others think, however, I do. If I like my painting it shouldn't matter. Just like if I liked the way I look it shouldn't matter if someone calls me fat, or if someone says I'm ugly. The plants are taking longer than the tiger took. I'm trying to be really neat and controlled when using the brush but it's a lot harder said and done. I don't have the patience for tiny brush strokes. I like the messy things that are beautiful in only that they are unique. I'm still trying to decide what to title my painting. Actually, quite honestly, I just thought about naming it. When I start writing books I usually come up with the title right away and only sometimes later on change it to something more eye catching or fitting. What does my tiger painting mean to me? It means fire and passion, desire but hidden emotion. No, maybe it means ferocity, or is the show my inner strength, or maybe it's the strength I think I have inside of me. I'll think of a title later.
I'm reading Rocket Boys by Homer H. Hickam, Jr. for the Brown Bag Book Club. We get free books and have book discussions. It's a pretty cool club and an even greater book. The last book I read for the club was Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. Now that was a fantastic book.
I have found that today I have no patience for anyone or anything. The crowded halls tick me off and the idiocy of my fellow peers astounds me. I need to get my clothes in order for the belly dancing performance. I need to work on my prom dress. I need to work on the pants I started months ago. I'm such a slacker it amazes me. Oh well. I'll get it done. Can't be too hard.
I don't really have anything to say but I'm fidgety and need to keep my fingers busy. They dance across the keyboard as if they have something truly important to say and yet I know they don't. They have a mind of their own and bounce up and down the board as if the keys are hotter than a spitting fire.
I just picked out a mat board for one of my pieces of work for digital media. I worked on my tiger painting but now I'm going through the disgust stage. I like the face but the body is all off. I like how the plants are going but I know what people are going to say about it before it gets complete. That's the thing. I shouldn't care so much about what others think, however, I do. If I like my painting it shouldn't matter. Just like if I liked the way I look it shouldn't matter if someone calls me fat, or if someone says I'm ugly. The plants are taking longer than the tiger took. I'm trying to be really neat and controlled when using the brush but it's a lot harder said and done. I don't have the patience for tiny brush strokes. I like the messy things that are beautiful in only that they are unique. I'm still trying to decide what to title my painting. Actually, quite honestly, I just thought about naming it. When I start writing books I usually come up with the title right away and only sometimes later on change it to something more eye catching or fitting. What does my tiger painting mean to me? It means fire and passion, desire but hidden emotion. No, maybe it means ferocity, or is the show my inner strength, or maybe it's the strength I think I have inside of me. I'll think of a title later.
I'm reading Rocket Boys by Homer H. Hickam, Jr. for the Brown Bag Book Club. We get free books and have book discussions. It's a pretty cool club and an even greater book. The last book I read for the club was Angels and Demons by Dan Brown. Now that was a fantastic book.