Vampires.
I love how my friends worry about me.
Me: My neighbors don't recognize me.
Friend: They never see you?
Me: Well, it's understandable. I stay in all day and only go out at night.
Friend: Uh.... I think it's time for an intervention?
I need to figure out what I'm doing with my livejournal layout. It's a mess right now. I want to make it more Bjork-ish, I guess, because it's probably the only kind of layout I won't get sick of any time soon.
I have 1.5/4 of my Federalist paper summaries done. Ugh. When I finish this entry and gather my stuff together, I'm going to sit myself down and force myself to work through the other Federalist papers. It was that much of a bother reading them, I must admit -- the trouble lies in having to sit yourself down, force yourself to concentrate, and then answer those silly questions. And on top of that, the grammar in that stupid question packet is horrendous.
Once I figure out a method to finishing summer work, I suppose I stick to it, because this is exactly what I did last year for AP US History. I saved all of the work for the week before it was due, simply because I could never make myself concentrate. It's always easier to bite the bullet with these things, I suppose. Because I didn't do all of the work before, now I am forced to concentrate. And honestly, it's best that way.
The library is one of the most distracting work environments. A large building with hundreds of people, all coming and going, children in hand, book selections in bags, coughing and sneezing, feet scruffing on the carpet, automatic doors opening and closing, people carrying themselves up the stairs, elevators opening, musty smells... The library is impossible to work in. The people come and go, and you force yourself to look at your book, your computer, your work, but it's not humanly possible. The people are coming and going! How could you not stare? How could you not observe the people around you? Are they better off than you? Have you more than they? Do they look lucky? People-watching -- it's impossible to take your eyes off of them! In a library, of all places! You can easily judge a person by looking at their book selections. How could I not look up?
The library is just impossible. Quiet, my ass. If only libraries were like we picture them in the books they lend out. Large, intimidating, dust on the tops of the shelves, musty carpets, wooden shelves with ancient books. Rows and rows and rows of books, the most ancient of the books, with their hard leatherbound covers. Books waiting for you, books on carts, the educated librarian sitting at his or her desk, looking at their work as if it were the last day of their life. No noise. You can hear a pin-drop, but only if you wait for it, for it would be impossible to hear such a noise in such a place of academia. And, where are you? You're sitting at your mahogany table, with a large book, larger than a holy text, open, burnt looking pages, black script adorning them. The windows only let in tiny rays of light, for the light is not needed, simply because you have the oil burning lamps on your table and all the others -- such light would ruin such a collection of fine works. You are even careful as to barely touch the pages; you know the oil of your skin is a deadly sin. A library! They call it a library!
But, no, it's impossible. The people come and go like it is social hour, and you are left sitting there, helpless, pencil in hand, sitting in a neuveau-styled leather chair, nothing like your dream. You keep watching that clock hoping it will rip your eyes from the people that pass by, hoping that the hands will move faster, hoping that your ride will be here to come and retrieve you, because you would never want to be stuck in such a place.
Me: My neighbors don't recognize me.
Friend: They never see you?
Me: Well, it's understandable. I stay in all day and only go out at night.
Friend: Uh.... I think it's time for an intervention?
I need to figure out what I'm doing with my livejournal layout. It's a mess right now. I want to make it more Bjork-ish, I guess, because it's probably the only kind of layout I won't get sick of any time soon.
I have 1.5/4 of my Federalist paper summaries done. Ugh. When I finish this entry and gather my stuff together, I'm going to sit myself down and force myself to work through the other Federalist papers. It was that much of a bother reading them, I must admit -- the trouble lies in having to sit yourself down, force yourself to concentrate, and then answer those silly questions. And on top of that, the grammar in that stupid question packet is horrendous.
Once I figure out a method to finishing summer work, I suppose I stick to it, because this is exactly what I did last year for AP US History. I saved all of the work for the week before it was due, simply because I could never make myself concentrate. It's always easier to bite the bullet with these things, I suppose. Because I didn't do all of the work before, now I am forced to concentrate. And honestly, it's best that way.
The library is one of the most distracting work environments. A large building with hundreds of people, all coming and going, children in hand, book selections in bags, coughing and sneezing, feet scruffing on the carpet, automatic doors opening and closing, people carrying themselves up the stairs, elevators opening, musty smells... The library is impossible to work in. The people come and go, and you force yourself to look at your book, your computer, your work, but it's not humanly possible. The people are coming and going! How could you not stare? How could you not observe the people around you? Are they better off than you? Have you more than they? Do they look lucky? People-watching -- it's impossible to take your eyes off of them! In a library, of all places! You can easily judge a person by looking at their book selections. How could I not look up?
The library is just impossible. Quiet, my ass. If only libraries were like we picture them in the books they lend out. Large, intimidating, dust on the tops of the shelves, musty carpets, wooden shelves with ancient books. Rows and rows and rows of books, the most ancient of the books, with their hard leatherbound covers. Books waiting for you, books on carts, the educated librarian sitting at his or her desk, looking at their work as if it were the last day of their life. No noise. You can hear a pin-drop, but only if you wait for it, for it would be impossible to hear such a noise in such a place of academia. And, where are you? You're sitting at your mahogany table, with a large book, larger than a holy text, open, burnt looking pages, black script adorning them. The windows only let in tiny rays of light, for the light is not needed, simply because you have the oil burning lamps on your table and all the others -- such light would ruin such a collection of fine works. You are even careful as to barely touch the pages; you know the oil of your skin is a deadly sin. A library! They call it a library!
But, no, it's impossible. The people come and go like it is social hour, and you are left sitting there, helpless, pencil in hand, sitting in a neuveau-styled leather chair, nothing like your dream. You keep watching that clock hoping it will rip your eyes from the people that pass by, hoping that the hands will move faster, hoping that your ride will be here to come and retrieve you, because you would never want to be stuck in such a place.