One-eighth done or: How it feels to be Gutted
Damn right, the semester is over. I have worked my ass off and I am fucking proud of myself. Tomorrow Moria is having a Irish-punkrock-pride+stout party to end it right, damn straight. I love the life I am building for myself, all the dancing makes me feel like my spirit is just under my skin. And weekly farm work is my diamond.
Despite all this nice-ness, tis the season. I am so immersed in SantaGlitterCocacolaChristmass that I honestly feel like my Pagan self is being strung up, bloody and steaming to be mocked and torn to bits. A dead rabbit. I am glad to be going home to the forest soon, where I can call it what I want and not have to buy a raffle ticket.
Tomorrow I hand in my portfolios and hug my Prof.s, I can not wait to feel the manila envelope leave my hand. Damn right. A snow storm is on its way, Thank Goddess.
Despite all this nice-ness, tis the season. I am so immersed in SantaGlitterCocacolaChristmass that I honestly feel like my Pagan self is being strung up, bloody and steaming to be mocked and torn to bits. A dead rabbit. I am glad to be going home to the forest soon, where I can call it what I want and not have to buy a raffle ticket.
Tomorrow I hand in my portfolios and hug my Prof.s, I can not wait to feel the manila envelope leave my hand. Damn right. A snow storm is on its way, Thank Goddess.