Candy Corn at its finest

Half a bag of candy corn should do it.

Here's to overcommitted clashing with not enough hours in the day. Or maybe there should just be more hours in the night so that my working time doesn't conflict with this grandiose innate need to sleep, eventually.

Here's to 3:45am, again. With so much more to do.

Rats! And I was going to be catching up on sleep this weekend, and last weekend, and the many weekends before...

Oh Calamity!

list-sick

I have a list. I have a very long list. Its tasks grow at a rate far more rapidly than those that are taken off.

I wish I didn't have a list. I wish I didn't even have a very short list.

It is I who created the list, and I am lost without it. Why would I create such a monstrous string of obligations?

Wouldn't life be more exciting without a list? It may be a little more chaotic, and more mistakes will certainly be had, but we would be able to focus our greedily-minded self-absorptions on something more worth the time.

As I sit here and cross the mundane tasks off my list, just know, that YOU are more important.
Why didn't you make it onto my list? Because it should have been not my list, but ours. Our list.

Nothing I do is really worthwhile in my opinion because it has made me so self-consumed, and I am sick of it.

I am list-sick.

Cars Pull, Cars don't play pool

Who would have known that "carpool" is not, in fact, spelled "car-pull?"

I just threw years worth of Shurley Grammar out the window.

And I get confused at times when it comes to accents.

Sorry mates,

especially when it's late or I've just woken from a deep slumber.

Septemberly Bacon

My meals consist of six foods, and six foods only:
Cereal
Corn
Spinach leaves
Bananas (blended)
Earl Grey Tea
BACON

Bacon. Ah, the simple pleasures in life. Or maybe it's just breakfast food, errr, maybe it's not the breakfast food itself; rather, it is the positively radiant connotation associated with breakfast - the slipping on of the house moccasins, sipping coffee at one's leisure, reclining either outside or at the window basking in the waking up of the tired earth, reading a book or the newspaper's humorous column of absurdity. Just taking the time to enjoy a little bit of repose before LIFE hits you in the face like a biting winter's wind.

Of course, not every morning is like this glorious initiative, but the pure fact that COULD BE makes it all the more glorious.

Today, as I wistfully eyed the salad topped with two pieces of bacon and pondered the employment of my stealthy pilferage of all bacon toppings, a kind man gifted me his bacon. He must of recognized the greedy bacon-stricken look upon my face, for he offered it to me at once!

If only every kind man gifted me his bacon. Oh wait, that sounds dirty... How about: If only all kind gentlemen of this fine tavern so nameth "Le Caf" were to bestow upon me their rations of slaughtered pig that gently lie-eth nestled between such exquisite greenery and freshly picked crop from this year's yields. YES, I accept your kind offer.

Squeal(bid) Day

bid day.
It's not that I'm anti-greek. I am simply not interested in it. It doesn't float in my boat; it doesn't settle well in my stomach; it doesn't turn me on; it's not enticing enough for my odd idiosyncrasies.

It's not on my check-list. It is not a life goal. It's not a generational matter in my family. It's not a culture I want to be a part of. It's not my culture.

I enjoyed observing everyone squeal and cry with excitement. That's what floats their boats. I am happy for them. So many happy faces.

But I did NOT enjoy observing the girls who had been dropped stand on the outside and try to support their friends who did get in. "Getting in," whatever that means. BRUTAL.

Bid Day was their moment. I am perfectly fine not being in that kind of social order, getting a big or a little.

That is not my kind of happy moment.
As long as I get to toss a coin over my shoulder into the fountain every day, I am perfectly content.

Tahini

Blast! All I need is a little Tahini. Curses, Walmart, for not having Tahini.

Library date with Hank

There's nothing quite like tuning in to your favorite Pandora station while studying in the library, the Hank Williams station, that is.

Thanks for the great date, Hank!

Ousted: I can take a hint

It has come to be that I have been methodically ousted by a certain sect of sorority girls in one of my classes. The seating arrangement has moved me from the front row all the way to the back, day by day and seat by seat.

Today, someone actually dispersed their belongings to the surrounding tables in order to save the seats for their fellow friends. I mean, come on. Really? Couldn't meet someone new, could you? And our class only has like, what, 25 people in it?

Um, sorry I breached your security network? Give me one of your matching T-shirts.

What was your motive - to turn to your friend and comment on a question that was asked and then giggle, or something? 

IDK. I don't get it. But don't worry, girls. I'll be way over here floating around in No Man's Land. Paying attention. And learning. And whatever else you're not.

Ant Massacre and Blood Vengeance

Dear army of 500 ants that conveniently infiltrated my bathtub at the time of my shower,

I apologize for killing you. It seems as though you were lost, so I kindly sent you down the drain to the first floor, ground floor, which is where you belong - on the ground outside. Get out.

Don't worry. Your efforts of infiltration were not in vain. Your kind cousins exercised their painful practice of blood vengeance via my drying towel. I am in pain. My skin itches and burns. Please go away.

Had I been in the Amazon's Sani Lodge, I would have eaten you immediately as a glorious snack - tasting just like sour patch kids - but with Vitamin C.

I am now forlorn. And itchy. And in pain. I think I'm allergic.
I hate ants.

Yellow Fever Evasion

As I watched that wretched mosquito slurp a drop of my Type A-Negative blood from my right shin, I was comforted by the ensuring fact that I would not be, in fact, contracting any yellow fever. Thanks to my yellow fever shot and malaria pills!

Suck that, mosquitoes.

Breakfast in the Caf

Is it not pitiful that the Thursday breakfast night in the Caf is the only thing that gets me through my week? It appears to be the only constant in my life because I know that at the end of all things terrible, I will always have breakfast for dinner on Thursday nights.

Now, if only serving bacon on that night was as consistent...
Let's face it. All I really want is some bacon. And Thursday night is the prime-o time.

We could all use a little bacon pick-me-up every once in awhile.

I don't know or care where you will be Thursday night, because I have security in breakfast night. I know where I'll be...

Not a lot of people left around

Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
Even on a cloudy day.
SUN.

Uninspired

The mind needs time to process and sort out all of that grand ole input. One can only take so many showers to pursue this much coveted respite until a majority of the day is spent frantically drying the hair in the wind while running from one activity to the next.

The mind is bogged down. Too much information. Too much to compartmentalize and not enough time to do so. A restless and fitful sleep leaves the mind consumed with a mental hangover of muddled perspective the next morning, and no matter how many UV rays penetrate your much needed Vitamin D skin, you cannot bask. You simply cannot.

A question? Someone approaches you and asks you a simple question, and you are incapable of responding because all basic communication skills have been suppressed by this lack of creativity. Because this is what the matter boils down to anyways...

Too many preoccupations and not enough time for creativity. I blame my writers block on my copiously filled schedule. I blame my horrid communication skills on failing to convey one piece of information from the upper right side of my brain to the lower right. I blame my terse responses on a desired lengthy conversation face to face, yet the present time allows a mere 5-10 seconds. I blame it all on my own lack of ability to be filled by the Grace.

I just need an uninterrupted and not preoccupied moment to sit back, think, and employ some form of minimal creativity.

And by minimal creativity I don't mean clipping my toenails, studying in the library, or lobbying for an organization on campus to show films for free.

I just need to peel some potatoes for awhile.

Keats, Shelley, Keats

This is how I feel most days: Audrey as Ana 

Arethusa

I

Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,---
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;---
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.

II

Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks---with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below.
And the beard and the hair
Of the River-god were
Seen through the torrent's sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph's flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III

'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!'
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth's white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:---
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,---
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

IV

Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearlèd thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest's night:---
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the Ocean's foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
They passed to their Dorian home.

V

And now from their fountains
In Enna's mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;---
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
When they love but live no more.

Mum

Everyone has a mother, or has at least had one at some point or another.

Mothers can be distant; mothers can be involved. Mothers can come and go, or they can hold strong. Sometimes a Mother is the only one you've got.

Mothers may follow the parenting handbook, but there must be something more for one to call their Mother, "Mom." Or in my case, Mum.

My Mum is literally my stronghold, and as I thought about the Proverbs 31 woman, an old childhood song came to mind.

"Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme." - Scarborough Fair
What flavor she gives to my life!
What wisdom and power she possesses!
What sweet aroma she has in her words and demonstrations!
What pleasant taste and remedy she gives the horrid trials of life!

The woman I wish to adequately reflect: Mum, thick skin and a True Blue, lover of the simple beautiful things in life and afternoon tea.

Happy Birthday, Mummy.

all sorts

Concluding my day in the wee hours of the next morning, I am always oddly invigorated by the inspirations evoked by a peculiar sense of lethargy - invigorating lethargy, I would paradoxically presume.

The heavens pouring forth their peaceful chaos provide the perfect book weather for this old paperback aroma endeavor.

As for now:
"If other people think I'm eccentric and unpredictable, it is because my actions and opinions are inconsistent with their principles, if they have any; I assure you that they're quite consistent with mine."

"...that's how much of life works: our friends float past; we become involved with them; they float on, and we must rely on hearsay or lose track of them completely; they float back again, and we must either renew our friendship - catch up to date - or find that they and we don't comprehend each other any more."

Thank you, Barth.

Hot Mess: olive oil and laundry detergent

As I patiently waited for ten minutes in the Caf Specials line for my Turkey Tetrazeeni of which I would never really eat anyway, I was swept over by the long straight blonde hair of the girl standing in front of me. For ten minutes I contemplated the possibilities of my hair looking like that perfect Pantene man catcher.

Slim.

But I immediately took to the olive oil, carefully lathering the ends of my meek hair. I thought this was it! Eureka! Olive oil was my solution. Little did I realize that once olive oil touches anything it takes a good deal of scrubbing to get it off, and even then a little residue remains so that you must continue scrubbing until the actual thing you were scrubbing falls to pieces.

Now, I can't exactly walk around campus with this kind of hair. I mean, I suppose I could go around washing people's feet with my hair, but would anyone be open to that anyways? Ha!

Solution #2: laundry detergent

Now, who in their right minds put that wretched chemical solution in their hair? I would. I was desperate.

My notion of the glory of swimming in a large vat of olive oil has thankfully been shattered.
What a debacle! What a hot mess! Stupid Pinterest, and stupid jalousie.

But I did go through quite a chunk of my phone's music playlist.
"The Skeleton's Waltz" - Dave Thomas
"Sleepyhead" - Passion Pit
"Something Good Can Work" - Two Door Cinema Club
"Somewhere Else" - Travis
"Song for No One" - Miike Snow
"Sophisticated Hula" - Can't find my version on youtube
"Soporific" - The Boat People
"South Pacific Overature" - Alfred Newman
"Speed of Sound" - Coldplay 
"Star Guitar" - Chemical Brothers
"Stars Come Out" - Calvin Harris
"The Starting Line" - Keane
"Stop Stop" - The Black Keys
"The Storm" - Boy and Bear


Moral of the Story:
1. I miss my roommate. COME BACK. I can't be left alone.
2. Olive Oil is for eating and laundry detergent is for washing, clothes that is.