Bittersweet Distractors
I think I'm becoming "that" girl. You know. The one I bitched and moaned about in my Lit 101 class last quarter. Fuuuuuuuuuck. I fucking hope not. That beezy was so fucking obnoxious. I'm trying to step back and not gush about Gillman, but she's just too cool. Maybe I'll start taking a few extra seconds before talking about lit shit to ponder it. Then I should be golden. At least my voice isn't robot monotone. I'm safe on that front. and I haven't always related topics back to Descartes or Kant/C*nt.
Voting tomorrow should be "a blast". I think I know what I'm doing. Part of me is excited with this whole electoral thing. I mean, I actually have a little bit more of a say than I have in the past. So that's pretty cool. Makes me feel more my age, if nothing else.
I'd be down if the fat bruise on my knee melted away. Some bruises are just teh worst.
The arms are doing well. 2 more weeks until direct sunlight, but until that point, lots of moisturizing and soap. What fun. They're itching, but I've been told that's a part of the healing proccess. Hurrah. Let's just hope my nocturnal scratches stay away for the next while. I'd be down with not cutting up healing tatts.
I'm feeling stronger in the whole creative writing thing. Was having a bit of a majorial crisis, and feeling useless in all realms literary. But certain individs have boostered/bolstered my confidence, and I'm discovered that some of the stuff I'm currently writing is getting somewhere, if not exactly at the point I want it to be. With time, with time. And that refers to so many things.
Reading "Frankenstein" for the third time. Actually enjoying it...? What the fuck. That's not supposed to happen :)
I've been feeling the urge to listen to robots in disguise. I think there's a little bit of the glam in me that's still awaiting to be released. It might be lingering Mr. Fielding affection, but I want to boost shit up a notch. I still don't know what that means, and perhaps I'm figuring it out. At the mo, it's going according to plan, I believe. Maybe it's mid-winter image reconstruction. I bet that's it. Feeling like I want to shed an old skin and put on something new. Newish. With a touch of ret. reticent? Perchanceables.
Need to see:
*There will be blood: I know I know, I've heard numerous bad reviews. But I've heard good ones. and my Daniel Day-Lewis/Johnny Greenwood love has to see what's up with it foist
*The Savages: Bryn and I in film form
*Wanted: Don't ask. I just do. I'm already ashamed.
Need to read:
*Teh rest of Frankenstein
*Teh rest of "Bedroom Secrets of Master Chefs": Je t'aime, Irvine Welsh.
*My workshop pieces before I print them. Balls to the walls.
*12 poems for the wednesday lecture
*Other assigned readings
I have to write a piece on a photograph, and I'm finding in this media-centric world we're in, I've got too many to choose from! The guantanamo-esque style of the photo of lotta, casey, and myself (unintentional to the last) is intriguing, but I feel something else would be better. Do I pick a photo I'm in? Or one that I am distant from? Or excruciatingly close to? That's what these choices will be all about, I guess.
but until then, the rain is taking a breather, I'm feeling more or less healthy, and confident in most realms of my existence. Toast to that, bebes.
Voting tomorrow should be "a blast". I think I know what I'm doing. Part of me is excited with this whole electoral thing. I mean, I actually have a little bit more of a say than I have in the past. So that's pretty cool. Makes me feel more my age, if nothing else.
I'd be down if the fat bruise on my knee melted away. Some bruises are just teh worst.
The arms are doing well. 2 more weeks until direct sunlight, but until that point, lots of moisturizing and soap. What fun. They're itching, but I've been told that's a part of the healing proccess. Hurrah. Let's just hope my nocturnal scratches stay away for the next while. I'd be down with not cutting up healing tatts.
I'm feeling stronger in the whole creative writing thing. Was having a bit of a majorial crisis, and feeling useless in all realms literary. But certain individs have boostered/bolstered my confidence, and I'm discovered that some of the stuff I'm currently writing is getting somewhere, if not exactly at the point I want it to be. With time, with time. And that refers to so many things.
Reading "Frankenstein" for the third time. Actually enjoying it...? What the fuck. That's not supposed to happen :)
I've been feeling the urge to listen to robots in disguise. I think there's a little bit of the glam in me that's still awaiting to be released. It might be lingering Mr. Fielding affection, but I want to boost shit up a notch. I still don't know what that means, and perhaps I'm figuring it out. At the mo, it's going according to plan, I believe. Maybe it's mid-winter image reconstruction. I bet that's it. Feeling like I want to shed an old skin and put on something new. Newish. With a touch of ret. reticent? Perchanceables.
Need to see:
*There will be blood: I know I know, I've heard numerous bad reviews. But I've heard good ones. and my Daniel Day-Lewis/Johnny Greenwood love has to see what's up with it foist
*The Savages: Bryn and I in film form
*Wanted: Don't ask. I just do. I'm already ashamed.
Need to read:
*Teh rest of Frankenstein
*Teh rest of "Bedroom Secrets of Master Chefs": Je t'aime, Irvine Welsh.
*My workshop pieces before I print them. Balls to the walls.
*12 poems for the wednesday lecture
*Other assigned readings
I have to write a piece on a photograph, and I'm finding in this media-centric world we're in, I've got too many to choose from! The guantanamo-esque style of the photo of lotta, casey, and myself (unintentional to the last) is intriguing, but I feel something else would be better. Do I pick a photo I'm in? Or one that I am distant from? Or excruciatingly close to? That's what these choices will be all about, I guess.
but until then, the rain is taking a breather, I'm feeling more or less healthy, and confident in most realms of my existence. Toast to that, bebes.