T (ea) & (ess) A (y)

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been rather busy between school and my socially starved friends, not to mention my laptop gets no internet at my Dad's house. Excuses, right? Well, now that I think about it. Tuesdays really do make a nice regular post night. I seem to always have an abundance of time on Tuesday nights. Anywho...


I hate writing essays. I mean, I love writing. If you sat me down in front of a blank Word Doc and told me to keep busy for the next twelve hours, I'd have a blast and ask for more time at the end. Writing for myself, I seem to never get enough. But for some reason when a teacher tells me to write for them, I go all cold and stiff and find it hard to string two sentences together. And that is the point I find myself at now. Did I bother to mention the rough is due tomorrow? Somebody gut me and hang my organs about like Christmas. Oh, sweet eloquence, do not part from me at my time of dire dependance! But of course every time I bring up that dreaded document, there it is. That terribly familiar cerebral flatulence that graces my every essay.


So how do I combat this terrible force of anti-studentism? Tea is my savior. With enough of that warm, relaxing, caffeinated ambrosia, I could sit staring at that accursed essay all night until the verbal constipation gives. Unfortunately, that also means frequent refills and bathroom runs. If only my twiggy, heartless, skeleton of a teacher knew the pain she puts me through each essay she assigns. But this is college, you paid to suffer.

Tell Me Something I Don't Know

Didn't do much today. Besides my morning chores, I had about two hours of school, then I returned home to continue my doing nothing. I'm taking this career search course that's supposed to help me figure out what I'm good at and what I'd be interested in in the expansive world of work. Because, frankly my dear, I don't have a clue. It's been interesting at times, fun at times, but most of the time it's like reviewing a list of things I already know. Yes, I am aware that I'd make a god-awful P.E. Teacher. But, after reviewing all of my results, and going through some extensive research, I have found one unexpected piece of thought. I'd apparently make a brilliant florist. Of course, if this is true, then I should have no reason whatsoever to continue dumping money into higher education. Ah hell, I'll go back to aiming for book editor or movie critic. Although I do like me my flowers (or flars as I prefer to call them).


I'm dreading school tomorrow. Scheduling my classes this semester the way I did could quite possibly be the stupidest thing I've ever done. Fourteen hours of school on Wednesdays is far too much for any mere mortal to contend with on a regular basis. But I manage, mainly by messing around on my laptop, being very outspoken in Philosophy 101, sleeping through math, rereading The Name of the Wind again, and eating a lot to keep me energized late into my English class. I think I'll let someone else design my schedule next semester, someone with a better sense of time and balance.

New Beginnings and Old News

How precisely does one begin a blog?


I'd been mulling over the question in my mind for some time. I knew I wanted find an easier way to share my toils and spoils with my friends and family, not to mention the fact that my current idol the great Patrick Rothfuss has a clever and entertaining blog that I read quite frequently. A little voice in my head with a British accent and a much more verbose vocabulary than my usual prattle kept telling me that I could do it. I could be clever, and smart, and entertaining, and I certainly do seem to always have something to say.


But now I find myself fumbling with the right way to begin. Sure, I could talk about life so far, but that seems like a far too long-winded and less than adequate choice. And despite how good I am at talking about myself, it feels far too arrogant to do so without relating it to some other subject that is the center of conversation. 


Simply put, I'm a student at the local CC. I take interest in movies, role-playing, story-writing, games of all sorts, comic books (among other more conventional reading methods), mythology, animals, paranormal and/or spiritual inquiries, and movies. I've had a boyfriend for almost two years, and he is decidedly the love of my life, without a doubt, Andrew Peterson is quite probably an entity sent down from the Divine Something-Or-Other and meant to be the most perfect man in existence. And that's leaving off the good parts. In other old news, I have a sister who's not only goth but also the president of the local GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance). I have two dogs and a snake, of which I will probably post pictures of later. That's all the background information I'm giving, so you can go ahead and stick that in your juice box and suck it.


On to more pressing matters, not talking about me, at least not directly. I believe now would be a good time to address my highlight of the day.


Not picking up dog poop, not cooking dinner, not math class, my highlight of the day was a little discussion I had with my lover over lunch. He insisted upon carrying one of my bags for me, despite my protests. When we sat down on the grass and pulled out our pre-packed lunches, Andy began a little rant on why chivalry is dead due to feminism and why girls should consider chivalry a compliment. I couldn't explain it so persuasively or eloquently as he, so I won't try, but I can say he certainly left me amused and bewildered by the idea. Why is chivalry such a bad thing? Can't a guy carry your bags, can't he open your door, why do women have to be strong and independent anyways? Personally, I think it's damn cute when a guy's chivalrous. He's not treating you like a weak little flower, he's treating you like a queen. Andy and I finally came to final agreement at the end, that we had been born in the wrong era.