crown on the ground
dear lj, i'm not back yet (pretending to study T-cell functions while sneaking in bits of aaaaall the Animorphs books in digital form--why yes, yes i am still 12 years old with no survival instinct--school is hard, yo.) but i've taken to studying in the Union lately.
predominantly populated by undergrads, it's not necessarily ideal for serious zoning in, but life turbulence leads one to seek out stability and this--sadly?--happens to be the building that i've regularly spent time in over the widest span of years. longer than in any house or apartment--even the one my parents own.
i remember stopping to get lunch during a field trip in 4th grade from the Little Caesars (replaced by Villa Pizza and Magic wok, garlic knots and magic pad thai! replaced by Panda Express. i wanted to stay firm in my opposition to all this change lark, but lately, i am all about szechuan beef. what can i say? my taste buds are fickle, and the way to my heart is definitely through them.) and hanging out in the corner tables with friends i probably wrote about back when i started this lj in high school, camping out in the 24 hour lab in the basement when the electricity and heat went out in my apartment a block away after a blizzard during xmas break when no one was around to fix it.
wishing it was there to camp out in, internetless and alone in the building during my last few days at AUW.
sprawled out with Hanna and Janis (and realizing i should probably move a bit away from Viri) on Rafael's boyfriend's floor at his birthday party in Karlsruhe, talking about the time Hanna and i actually left our guitars here but they were still here in the booth when we got back from DDR at Pinball Pete's.
shivering down an ally in Ivry-sur-Seine (south Parisian suburb), too awkward to stay in a patisserie for warmth and face the pitiless judging eyes of the French woman silently handing me my half-baguette as if she knew exactly why that was all i was buying a moment longer, telling myself she knew nothing about me--nothing--i missed this open doored anonymity.
now here i am again, deciding whether thiazide or lisinopril would be the better starter treatment for a hypothetical Alfred, 55, African American. (i moved on to pharmacology while writing this entry and the answer, btw, is thiazide--African Americans are more likely to be sensitive to lisinopril. race is nothing concrete, but better safe than sorry.)
...
i've digressed. all of the above could go in the tumblr (in fact, it probably will) but the reason i started to write this entry is that there are Business school students sitting in the booth in front of me, discussing irritating B-school things, and i tuned in absently a second ago to the following--
guy: yeah some of my classmates get their internships and jobs ENTIRELY because of their parents. there was this one guy who kept bragging about how his father and the owner of Blackstone were at a party and they arranged it so Blackstone came to recruit at his school and give out interviews JUST so they could legitimately hire him.
girl: i had this girl in class today who seriously said "Why would I do my own laundry? I never learned how."
me: trying not to compose a fic in my head in which the guy is Merlin, talking to Gwen, and the obnoxiously rich and well-connected guy in question is of course, Arthur, Morgana-the-laundry-impaired's cousin.
i have to say that the show has done nothing for me for most of the past season. eye candy can hold my interest for only so long in the face of declining quality and lack of video diaries chronicling Bradley James' antics. even if it weren't for real life getting in the way, i'd probably have lowered interest in fandom.
nonetheless, a few days ago, i spent my lunch break writing a thousand words of a bathroom-mirror porn au instead of eating my lunch, and making it a part of that epic fic that i've been writing since i first started watching that might never see the light of another computer screen.
who knows why we do things? only that we do them and sometimes, they're fun.
view from my favorite table:
ivry-sur-seine:
predominantly populated by undergrads, it's not necessarily ideal for serious zoning in, but life turbulence leads one to seek out stability and this--sadly?--happens to be the building that i've regularly spent time in over the widest span of years. longer than in any house or apartment--even the one my parents own.
i remember stopping to get lunch during a field trip in 4th grade from the Little Caesars (replaced by Villa Pizza and Magic wok, garlic knots and magic pad thai! replaced by Panda Express. i wanted to stay firm in my opposition to all this change lark, but lately, i am all about szechuan beef. what can i say? my taste buds are fickle, and the way to my heart is definitely through them.) and hanging out in the corner tables with friends i probably wrote about back when i started this lj in high school, camping out in the 24 hour lab in the basement when the electricity and heat went out in my apartment a block away after a blizzard during xmas break when no one was around to fix it.
wishing it was there to camp out in, internetless and alone in the building during my last few days at AUW.
sprawled out with Hanna and Janis (and realizing i should probably move a bit away from Viri) on Rafael's boyfriend's floor at his birthday party in Karlsruhe, talking about the time Hanna and i actually left our guitars here but they were still here in the booth when we got back from DDR at Pinball Pete's.
shivering down an ally in Ivry-sur-Seine (south Parisian suburb), too awkward to stay in a patisserie for warmth and face the pitiless judging eyes of the French woman silently handing me my half-baguette as if she knew exactly why that was all i was buying a moment longer, telling myself she knew nothing about me--nothing--i missed this open doored anonymity.
now here i am again, deciding whether thiazide or lisinopril would be the better starter treatment for a hypothetical Alfred, 55, African American. (i moved on to pharmacology while writing this entry and the answer, btw, is thiazide--African Americans are more likely to be sensitive to lisinopril. race is nothing concrete, but better safe than sorry.)
...
i've digressed. all of the above could go in the tumblr (in fact, it probably will) but the reason i started to write this entry is that there are Business school students sitting in the booth in front of me, discussing irritating B-school things, and i tuned in absently a second ago to the following--
guy: yeah some of my classmates get their internships and jobs ENTIRELY because of their parents. there was this one guy who kept bragging about how his father and the owner of Blackstone were at a party and they arranged it so Blackstone came to recruit at his school and give out interviews JUST so they could legitimately hire him.
girl: i had this girl in class today who seriously said "Why would I do my own laundry? I never learned how."
me: trying not to compose a fic in my head in which the guy is Merlin, talking to Gwen, and the obnoxiously rich and well-connected guy in question is of course, Arthur, Morgana-the-laundry-impaired's cousin.
i have to say that the show has done nothing for me for most of the past season. eye candy can hold my interest for only so long in the face of declining quality and lack of video diaries chronicling Bradley James' antics. even if it weren't for real life getting in the way, i'd probably have lowered interest in fandom.
nonetheless, a few days ago, i spent my lunch break writing a thousand words of a bathroom-mirror porn au instead of eating my lunch, and making it a part of that epic fic that i've been writing since i first started watching that might never see the light of another computer screen.
who knows why we do things? only that we do them and sometimes, they're fun.
view from my favorite table:
ivry-sur-seine: