(no subject)
Writing in my liverjournal is the last stop in a long line of work-avoidance techniques.
If one were to compare learning a foreign language to the human body, then my german would be a pitiable, hunchbacked soul with one leg longer than the other. My french would be missing some connective tissue. Professor Wildermuth, however, has an adorable name worth fighting for and on his behalf I won't give up german quite yet.
This weekend I met a kid named Jacques who was not french. He was a tease. His name, unlike David Wildermuth's, was adorable but not worth fighting for. My pseudo long distance relationship is less than ideal and may or may not be worth fighting for. (Lots of dangling prepositions in this entry.) My ficus, left unwatered atop my radiator for too long, is not dead yet and worth fighting for. It actually seems to like the dry heat. I also like a good, dry heat and can't wait until summer. It is open season on cadbury eggs. I have one in my bag but haven't yet found the occasion to crack it open. I hope it's a good one. The cream center in the old ones dries out and where's the fun in that?
I crave physical contact with all carbon-based life forms and it is harder to write a good eljay entry now than in the past. I am out of practice.
Time to conquer yogurt and a paper. Over and out.