don't need to walk around in circles
I have just finished season five of the Gilmore Girls. I don't know how I'll be able to cope without this show. I love it to death: I overidentify with almost every character, and the ones I can't identify with, I associate with other people I know. I am Rory. I am Lorelai. I am Lane. I am Kirk uhh, Paris. I am -- okay, the overidentifying with fictional characters session is done now. Although I haven't even started on how I want to be the John Sheppard to my new coworker's Rodney McKay.
In less bright news, I am coming down with a cold. I can actually feel my immune system making pitiful little gasps for help, as I am drawn inexorably closer and closer to the brink of full-on sniffles. Right now I just have a cough, congestion, and a headache. Woot. Although, one thing I love about colds is that period when your voice starts to give out -- you can always sing along so much better with artists like Patti Smith (or, depending on your level of phlegm, Freddie Mercury).
Only a few weeks left of this semester, but I feel like there's both too much time left and no time available to get anything done. Of course, this could be because I have a five-page paper due on Tuesday in single-spaced, size eleven Times New Roman. So basically -- the equivalent of twelve pages. Research involves reading a lot about Paleolithic goddess figures and the many, many vulvas that were drawn on cave walls before the dawn of history. It sounds fun -- it is fun -- only I just found myself writing over a thousand words on my undercover-as-beat-poets Fraser/Kowalski crackfic tonight instead of working on it. I am totally flunking out of life. But my crackfic sure is cracky.
Of course, when I say I am flunking out of life, what I mean is "I am making straight A's, omgwtf how did this happen can't they see I am putting no effort into this?" Maybe if I went and confessed to my teachers that I am a big phony who has been writing fic and sleeping instead of studying, and I just happen to appear to look like I am really smart or something. OMG, there I am being like Rory again. And now we have come full circle.
“Remind me why I’m doing this,” Ray whispered urgently, “I hate speaking in front of people, the lights make me sweat, I’m scared of heights, and I didn’t even write my own poetry! What the hell does the word ‘effulgent’ mean, anyway?”
In less bright news, I am coming down with a cold. I can actually feel my immune system making pitiful little gasps for help, as I am drawn inexorably closer and closer to the brink of full-on sniffles. Right now I just have a cough, congestion, and a headache. Woot. Although, one thing I love about colds is that period when your voice starts to give out -- you can always sing along so much better with artists like Patti Smith (or, depending on your level of phlegm, Freddie Mercury).
Only a few weeks left of this semester, but I feel like there's both too much time left and no time available to get anything done. Of course, this could be because I have a five-page paper due on Tuesday in single-spaced, size eleven Times New Roman. So basically -- the equivalent of twelve pages. Research involves reading a lot about Paleolithic goddess figures and the many, many vulvas that were drawn on cave walls before the dawn of history. It sounds fun -- it is fun -- only I just found myself writing over a thousand words on my undercover-as-beat-poets Fraser/Kowalski crackfic tonight instead of working on it. I am totally flunking out of life. But my crackfic sure is cracky.
Of course, when I say I am flunking out of life, what I mean is "I am making straight A's, omgwtf how did this happen can't they see I am putting no effort into this?" Maybe if I went and confessed to my teachers that I am a big phony who has been writing fic and sleeping instead of studying, and I just happen to appear to look like I am really smart or something. OMG, there I am being like Rory again. And now we have come full circle.
“Remind me why I’m doing this,” Ray whispered urgently, “I hate speaking in front of people, the lights make me sweat, I’m scared of heights, and I didn’t even write my own poetry! What the hell does the word ‘effulgent’ mean, anyway?”