There's no excuse for my hiatus. My life is just not that interesting.
So far, so good. On hurricane season, I mean. And I’m totally jinxing the entire Gulf Coast with those last two statements, so I just rapped thrice sharply on my desk and I’m pretty sure the girl in the next room just got up to see who was at the door.
Currently working on a paper for Honors 2013, comparing C. Carwood Lipton of Band of Brothers to Bill Tyne of A Walk in the Sun. I’m really enjoying that class - actually, all of the classes. Except Biology, but that’s bearable. In fact, I skipped class today (am getting the notes from someone in exchange for the notes from Wednesday’s class - a very nice system we have, here). My German teacher is out of the country this week, attending a conference, and Bio would’ve been my only class on this glorious Friday morning.
Things I’ve done since I woke up, two and a half hours ago:
-Hit the back of my head on the doorpost of my closet. That was this morning, and why was I wearing a sweatshirt in early September Louisiana? Because my roommate, who is perfectly lovely, controls the climate of our monastic cell. And she keeps it at about 66 degrees Fahrenheit, with the ceiling fan on ‘low.’ I don’t mind, really. It’s easier for me to add layers of clothing and sit on my icy little toes than it is for her to take off more clothing. I just keep my familiar green sweatshirt within easy reach so I can pull it on the second I get into the room. And I don’t bother taking it off when I’m just going to the basement to get a soda (yes, I say ‘soda.’ I don’t bandy the word ‘Coke’ about indiscriminately like most people in my region) or down the hall to the toilets, so I’m pretty sure most of the people on this floor think of me as ‘that girl with the green sweatshirt, and, by the way, the sleeves are way too long and it makes her look, like, seven-years-old.’ Did this item have a point? Well, I’ve always suspected that the back of my skull is oddly shaped. In fact, I’ve flirted with the idea of shaving off all my hair just so I could see. I have a strange curiosity about the shape of my head and whether or not there are freckles or chicken pox cars on my scalp.
-Checked the scar on my back from the second melanoma excision. I think it’ll actually be okay for February, when I have to wear a gown with a low back which is, by the way, absolutely gorgeous and I almost don’t feel worthy of wearing it. Anyway, I can’t remember if I mentioned the second excision. Not a big deal, really. The type I get is the superficial spreading type, and they mostly occur on my back (there was one on my upper arm, so I guess we could say ‘trunk area’? I’ve never quite understood what ‘trunk area’ entails). This one required 50% more stitches than the last one. I’ve only had two surgical excisions and about five biopsies where it was just in the suspicious cell stage and they wound up just burning all of it off with the biopsy. I include this one because the spot is on my upper back, once again peri-spinal, and checking it requires removing every single layer from above the waist (again, it’s cold in here), putting my hair up, turning on the overhead and pointing my desk lamp at a funny angle, facing away from the mirror, and then craning my head at really funny angle to catch a brief glimpse before I pinch a nerve in my neck or, that one time (very bad balance here), actually falling over and hitting my elbow on the sink. The scar is looking better than the lower peri-spinal from late May. Perhaps that’s because I left the steristrips on for the full five days after they removed the stitches. With the first one, they came off after the second night and I didn’t know the German word for ‘steristrip,’ so I just forgot about it.
-Checked the order status on the eight additional books I had to order for 2058. This better be a damn good class. The reading material, for the most part, does look interesting. Dad has already placed preemptive holds on some of them for Christmas holidays.
-Ate a big spoonful of peanut butter for breakfast.
-Contemplated getting another book from the library (girl, are you crazy? You’ll have enough reading/writing this semester, plus you’re not even done with Der Glaspalast and you really need to work on your German vocab)
-Went through my latest set of flashcards twice.
-Found some older flashcards in my desk and realized I really need to review those, too.
-Checked Weather Channel and grumbled to an empty room about when the Hell fall would be here, ‘cause Farmer’s Almanac said we’re supposed to have a cold winter this year and that had better include South Louisiana, ‘cause it’s not enough that the Gulf Coast was absolutely ravaged last year. They took away our winter, too!
-Stared at a small scar on the back of my hand (yeah, I don’t know ‘the back of my own hand’ too well) and wondered what it was from. Oh, that’s right. The IV from my tonsillectomy, eight years ago. Eight years with one needle and there’s still a scar. There’s one on the other hand, too, from the wisdom teeth-ectomy. I’m totally going to have stretch marks if I ever get pregnant, and varicose veins, and all manner of unsightly reminders because of this damned pasty, thin, be-freckled Irish/French skin.
-Could I be any more self-involved this morning? Will turn on CNN, and not be so vain.
-Peanut butter just didn’t do it for me. I’m going to get some lunch.
Currently working on a paper for Honors 2013, comparing C. Carwood Lipton of Band of Brothers to Bill Tyne of A Walk in the Sun. I’m really enjoying that class - actually, all of the classes. Except Biology, but that’s bearable. In fact, I skipped class today (am getting the notes from someone in exchange for the notes from Wednesday’s class - a very nice system we have, here). My German teacher is out of the country this week, attending a conference, and Bio would’ve been my only class on this glorious Friday morning.
Things I’ve done since I woke up, two and a half hours ago:
-Hit the back of my head on the doorpost of my closet. That was this morning, and why was I wearing a sweatshirt in early September Louisiana? Because my roommate, who is perfectly lovely, controls the climate of our monastic cell. And she keeps it at about 66 degrees Fahrenheit, with the ceiling fan on ‘low.’ I don’t mind, really. It’s easier for me to add layers of clothing and sit on my icy little toes than it is for her to take off more clothing. I just keep my familiar green sweatshirt within easy reach so I can pull it on the second I get into the room. And I don’t bother taking it off when I’m just going to the basement to get a soda (yes, I say ‘soda.’ I don’t bandy the word ‘Coke’ about indiscriminately like most people in my region) or down the hall to the toilets, so I’m pretty sure most of the people on this floor think of me as ‘that girl with the green sweatshirt, and, by the way, the sleeves are way too long and it makes her look, like, seven-years-old.’ Did this item have a point? Well, I’ve always suspected that the back of my skull is oddly shaped. In fact, I’ve flirted with the idea of shaving off all my hair just so I could see. I have a strange curiosity about the shape of my head and whether or not there are freckles or chicken pox cars on my scalp.
-Checked the scar on my back from the second melanoma excision. I think it’ll actually be okay for February, when I have to wear a gown with a low back which is, by the way, absolutely gorgeous and I almost don’t feel worthy of wearing it. Anyway, I can’t remember if I mentioned the second excision. Not a big deal, really. The type I get is the superficial spreading type, and they mostly occur on my back (there was one on my upper arm, so I guess we could say ‘trunk area’? I’ve never quite understood what ‘trunk area’ entails). This one required 50% more stitches than the last one. I’ve only had two surgical excisions and about five biopsies where it was just in the suspicious cell stage and they wound up just burning all of it off with the biopsy. I include this one because the spot is on my upper back, once again peri-spinal, and checking it requires removing every single layer from above the waist (again, it’s cold in here), putting my hair up, turning on the overhead and pointing my desk lamp at a funny angle, facing away from the mirror, and then craning my head at really funny angle to catch a brief glimpse before I pinch a nerve in my neck or, that one time (very bad balance here), actually falling over and hitting my elbow on the sink. The scar is looking better than the lower peri-spinal from late May. Perhaps that’s because I left the steristrips on for the full five days after they removed the stitches. With the first one, they came off after the second night and I didn’t know the German word for ‘steristrip,’ so I just forgot about it.
-Checked the order status on the eight additional books I had to order for 2058. This better be a damn good class. The reading material, for the most part, does look interesting. Dad has already placed preemptive holds on some of them for Christmas holidays.
-Ate a big spoonful of peanut butter for breakfast.
-Contemplated getting another book from the library (girl, are you crazy? You’ll have enough reading/writing this semester, plus you’re not even done with Der Glaspalast and you really need to work on your German vocab)
-Went through my latest set of flashcards twice.
-Found some older flashcards in my desk and realized I really need to review those, too.
-Checked Weather Channel and grumbled to an empty room about when the Hell fall would be here, ‘cause Farmer’s Almanac said we’re supposed to have a cold winter this year and that had better include South Louisiana, ‘cause it’s not enough that the Gulf Coast was absolutely ravaged last year. They took away our winter, too!
-Stared at a small scar on the back of my hand (yeah, I don’t know ‘the back of my own hand’ too well) and wondered what it was from. Oh, that’s right. The IV from my tonsillectomy, eight years ago. Eight years with one needle and there’s still a scar. There’s one on the other hand, too, from the wisdom teeth-ectomy. I’m totally going to have stretch marks if I ever get pregnant, and varicose veins, and all manner of unsightly reminders because of this damned pasty, thin, be-freckled Irish/French skin.
-Could I be any more self-involved this morning? Will turn on CNN, and not be so vain.
-Peanut butter just didn’t do it for me. I’m going to get some lunch.