It's not that I've been avoiding you, oh my public! Or that I've forgotten. Or that I've had nothing to say.

None of that is true.

Vacation doesn't lend itself to keeping in touch very well, especially when all you do is stay up late, sleep in late, eat bountiful meals and snacks, and play with a baby. Oh, we've watched movies, too.

I'm including here a couple of pictures to make up for the days of no posting.
Hope everyone is well and happy!

Last, but not least, a short video of Katie last night. She's too cute!

http://s125.photobucket.com/albums/p60/lanagottschalk/?action=view&current=katie-dinner2.flv

PIECES DONE!

All pieces are cut and laid out on the living room floor. Despite a minor setback of my complete idiocy with numbers and geometric shapes, we're going to have an amazing piece of work here. The picture follows:

This is going to be a pillow for my bed. Matchy-matchy.

This is my old quilt on my new bed. I can't wait to see what my room looks like with the new quilt!

UPDATE! UPDATE!

This just in....

I found my old t-shirts - my absolute favorite from 7th grade that I wore until I went to grad school last year; and the replacement Mr. Bubble shirt for the original Mr. Bubble shirt from freshman year of high school (the first had to be pitched because it was so thread-bare). The best news, of course, was that I found a 3rd shirt with them. The green American Eagle one with a dragonfly on it that I have loved and also wore for many, many years. I had a senior picture taken in both the one from 7th grade and the green one. My favorite senior pic was in that green shirt, despite the fact that I was basically hanging out in a tree (to match the green) in a long-sleeved knit shirt and khakis in the middle of July.

In other news, Casino Royale is definitely worth seeing, and this from a girl who doesn't like Bond movies at all.

Also, the Bruschetta Chicken Pasta at T.G.I. Friday's is phenom. Eat it.

I APOLOGIZE FOR MY NEGLIGENCE

But it has been a crazy couple of weeks.

I graduated from college - went through the ceremony and everything. Here I am in my garb.

I moved into my own apartment and with the help of my parents, Cat, and Simon, it looks pretty amazing. Here are some preliminary shots (kitchen and guest bedroom).

I entertained for the first 2 1/2 days while living in my new apartment - being with Cat is always amazing!

I was invited over for my first neighborly dinner at Liz & Chalupa's. Waffles with blueberries are lovely!

I arranged for cable, Internet, insurances, etc. to all happen after I return from my Christmas extravaganza with the fam in The Zone (short for Arizona). That felt like a very grown-up thing to do.

Now I'm at my parents for the next few days--seeing old friends, hanging out with the 'rents, and, to everyone's surprise, making a t-shirt quilt of all my old fav's. This quilt is going to be amazing, despite the fact that I've misplaced my two favorite shirts of all time (they were the original inspiration for this crazy crafty project). I haven't taken any pictures of it yet, but will within a day or two. You should be expecting something spectacular; I sure am. But we'll see.

Off to see a movie or something fun, at least.

SORELY BORED

I'm so bored at work this week. Students don't bring many reference questions during finals week. The depth of their questions remain along the lines of - transfer me to the people who deal with fines, where can I rent movies, can I see the citation manual? Most requests they make for books end in fruitless searches, as their fellow students who don't procrastinate have already checked out ALL of the books on any particular topic.

Easy questions. No thought necessary. But makes for slow and extremely mind-numbing 3 to 3 1/2 hour shifts. I also picked up a couple of shifts this week for a friend who moved away on Monday. So here I am, working for the 4th day in a row with 2 more ahead of me. Langourous.

I waste the time here by chatting with friends, emailing everyone I can think of, and talking with my coworkers. One of them, my favorite librarian to work with, ceaselessly makes fun of me for always being on Gmail when he walks by. Today he said, "What're you going to do when you don't get paid to email people any more?", referring to the upcoming end of my tenure here. "Oh, I guess you don't have that long to wait before you begin your new job and can get paid there." He grinned somewhat maniacally as he walked away.

BEST WORD OF THE DAY!

Swime n.
Dizziness, giddiness, or a fit of this; swooning, a swoon.

I love this.

ALMOST FAMOUS

In the lobby of the library this morning, I saw Christina Aguilera.
At least, I thought it was her. It looked like her circa this time period




The girl was not, however, wearing that outfit, but the cute pink and black fleecy-weecy outfits that you see all over college campuses.

The hair was that fake looking. The make-up was that dark (and it was 10am, not 11pm).

All I could think was WHY?

New pics!

Who else would be the focus of the first pictures taken with my digital camera other than the cats and myself? Really, we all know there is no other answer.

Twitch













Midgey (sleeping on my music blanket - aka the cat hair blanket - it's total nast now)














Me













This picture is reminiscent of Emily's animal nose pictures - with the noses all huge and right in the middle or at least the focal point of the picture. Hm...probably not the best one I've ever taken. Oh well. Trying out the camera...it's awesome. I've read 2 1/2 manuals so far on it. Had to take a break from that.

Lost and Found

It's strange how "good" friends can disappear from your life without any grand farewell tour or at least a goodbye.

Several of my friends from college have thus disappeared from my life. Sometimes, I think we forget people on accident. And although it's sad that a relationship would mean that little, I think it's probably normal and perhaps how it should be. For if we forget, how can we miss? And if we're not missing them, then we aren't aware of the loss. Sometimes that is a blessing.

In the age of the Web, I am constantly aware of how easy it can be to locate these lost individuals. Tonight, I found the contact info for someone I'd been wondering about since graduation. I hope he writes me back.

Another friend, well, he is gone. He cannot be found on the Internet and I have no other means of locating him. I can't even come up with a mutual friend who might know what happened to him. I am convinced he's run away to a foreign country because of his passion for foreign cultures and his lack of web presence. It would benefit me to forget about him, so I wouldn't feel the loss of his friendship so much. But, alas, I can't.

All in a day's work

Saturday was significant. I moved almost everything I own (save what I need every day) to my new apartment 2 hours from here. My parents showed up with the U-Haul from their house full of one entire bedroom of furniture, plus most of another, and some odds and ends.

We had a fun time getting things in order: arranging the living room to incorporate a conversation nook and an entertainment area; making the guest bedroom into a music room/office, too; and washing and putting away all of my new Pfaltzgraff dishes. It's cute, it's roomy and I'm in love with this place.

There were two particularly memorable things that happened. The first was the putting together of the bookshelves, which involved an entire box of tools, 7 pieces of fake wood, 4 people, and one generous hole in the side of the shelves. I hope to never forget how it got there. The second was my early graduation gift, which was...A DIGITAL CAMERA!

I am so excited with this new piece of equipment and am quite sure my life is about to change. I have all week to read up on how it works and what types of settings it has, etc. Which is thrilling. Hopefully, my blog will soon sport more pictures, as I will no longer have to wait for someone else to send me the digital photos to post. I can do it myself!

It's almost as if nothing can phase me this week. And to top it off, my landlord gave me a rice cooker that is exactly like the one she has, which I have been using and raving about all semester. How thoughtful of her!

A great way to begin the last week of my first master's career.

Last lunch

I guess that's what it was...our last lunch. I went to my favorite restaurant with two of my favorite people here in B-town, and we had a lovely time. Our server, Peter, was so kind and told us we were "fun" and he'd always be our man when we patronized this restaurant.

As we parted ways, it hit me, sort of like a cold wind in the face: that's it. I may never see Jami again. I hope to. I mean, I'm sure we'll be librarian friends across the country and I even hope to be able to work together with her on papers or projects again. We had a great time doing that last Spring. But as for living near each other and being proximity friends, that's over.

Up to the point I turned and walked away, I hadn't thought I'd be sad for a single second in leaving this city, this university. But I was. Not overwhelmingly so, but ever so slightly. Enough to make me stop in my tracks and turn around for one last wave...

I will miss you, Jami. And Kelly, you too, when I leave next Saturday. And Kate, you, too.
There were wonderful things about the past 18 months - thanks, friends, for helping me discover that.

Why is it

that when a girl wears cute shoes she feels sexier?

I don't understand.

I've never been in on this secret, until my sister insisted I buy some heels this year. I had a taste of it, but didn't trust this new-found feeling.

Today while Christmas shopping, I saw several pairs of cute heels - I tried them all on and nearly bought 4 of them. Instantaneously I felt different with them on.

I hate having to give in to "facts" that culture and society have laid out for me, but it's true.

I'm cuter in heels.

Dang.

Bus Stop Buddy

I met a very lovely old man at the bus stop today. I had just missed the noon bus, but decided to wait outside for the next one anyway.

The old man was holding a Priority Mail package, open end up, and shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. He had pearly fake teeth and a nice smile.

"You have a car, but you take the bus!"

I don't normally converse with people in bus stops. Not because I'm snobby, but because it's awkward, even with the people you see every day. There is a guy in my program, actually, who rode the bus with me all of last year and we never spoke. We'd see each other in our small library, and we might smile, but no words were exchanged. He's in one of my classes this semester, and we haven't really spoken, even though it's clear we both realize we rode Bus 7 last year. Two weeks ago we spoke for the first time. It was because our class is horrific and every student (save three very dedicated souls) has bonded with the rest of us who hate the class. All that's to say, today was our last class and Mystery Man #1 says to me, "We should have been friends last year on Bus 7." It's true. He's pretty cool.

Coming back to the story at hand.

I smile and explain the parking situation on campus. He then offers,

"I wrote a book!" (and yes, everything he says is with enough enthusiasm for an exclamation point.)

I asked what it was about. I mean, it was just the two of us there in the tiny bus shelter, and I was interested in his story. It was about the war. Then he taps my arm and says,

"You ever hear of Glenn Miller?"

"As in the musician?"

"Yes. I killed him."

I stood there shocked, though smiling. What do you say to a murderer who confesses to your face? He began explaining that his book was about this well-kept secret on the death of Glenn Miller and how for 62 years this gentleman in front of me kept his word of not divulging the situation surrounding the musician's death.

But he wouldn't tell me details. "Read the book," he'd say, with a twinkle in his eye. And by the time my bus came ten minutes later, I wanted to read it. To find out what happened to Glenn Miller, someone I had no connection to, other than my brother and maybe my dad have enjoyed his music at some point.

When we boarded the bus, I'd pegged him between the ages of 76 and 89, since both of my grandpas served in the War and one is late 70s and the other late 80s.

The man, Wolfe--the only part of his name he gave me, he knows one of my professors, so we had a connection there. And that caused more talking, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself. He followed me on the bus to continue talking. He contacted a big-wig in Hollywood, a producer even, who might want to make it a movie. An exciting prospect.

I've always enjoyed the elderly generation's stories. So this was a random gift, it seemed. God's act of kindness to me today, on my way to such a loathsome class.
______________________________________________________________

This evening I looked up the book on Amazon. It's called I kept my word, and actually includes many other things about Clarence's time in service. I was excited about reading this book, and considered ordering, but thought I'd check out the excerpt on Amazon first.

I found out that he was 82! And he was 20 when he served in Europe and was entangled in this controversy.

Can I just say that this particular book was published by Author House, a publishing company that I despise because of a certain book or two that I was intimately involved with over the past year. And, while I am still interested in the part about Glenn Miller's death and the cover-up, I don't really want to read the rest of the book. The first five pages available to me were enough.

When I read the words from an old man's mouth and they include "horny," "rubbers," and my favorite sentence: "That Great Depression was a son of a bitch..." -- it's enough. Had I known he was a dirty old man, I may have avoided the conversation altogether. I'll try to let it pass, since I'll never have to interact with him again.

But, WOW!

Maddie-ism

When telling a story to her aunt Leslie, Maddie began:

"This one time, oh gosh, it was so long ago...I might have been two, or even one. Oh gosh, I don't even think I was a number yet!"

Heel in the Ribs, coming right up!

I'm frustrated mostly because I have no backbone. Because I want to stand up for myself, but when the moment presents itself, I can do nothing more than smile and speak no words. For the words that would spill forth from my mouth would most assuredly destroy any semblance of peace, of rapport, of goodness that I have previously established.

I'm letting people walk all over me. Instructors, landlords, friends. And it doesn't feel good. It leaves me feeling sick and sad and mostly alone.

Too often I feel that if I do manage to speak what's actually on my mind, it will destroy me, personally, more so than the person to whom the wrath is directed. The guilt I feel for saying nothing or doing nothing overpowers the guilt for thinking that I should divulge what I'm feeling.

This adds to the guilt complex I have regarding my faith and my "goodness" as a Christian. If I'm thinking these mean thoughts, what is the point of projecting smiles and kind words. Isn't that the essence of hypocrisy? Why would I want to let that dance in around my life?

It seems the upcoming changes--the necessity for professionalism, the new home, the living on my own for once, the second graduation (or, third, I guess), the living near a most wonderful friend--perhaps these things will give me enough inertia to focus my energies on developing a backbone.

The usual

Today I consumed over 101 ounces of water.

I dont usually keep track, but decided since I had forgotten to refill my water bottles I might as well count up the daily total.

In all honesty, the day is not over yet, and I have a partially filled bottle sitting next to me. Surely it will be consumed in the next hour.

For some reason, Blogger is not letting me use apostrophes right now. Annoying, but please bear with me.

Did I mention I only have 18 days left here....that is it.

My girls

Most of the people in my family who actually have digital cameras forgot to use them this week during our family Thanksgiving extravaganza.

I managed to sneak a few snapshots here and there with my mom's digi-mon, however, so I could share the cuteness of my nieces.

This is Katie: 18 months, who has somewhat of an anger management problem, and yet still manages to turn on the sweetness and charm when she feels like it. Please note the most adorable little outfit she has on in the second picture - it's from the wedding last Saturday.

And let's not forget Madeline, at 4, who is the most imaginative and strangest cookie ever, but who I adore more than anyone.

Here she is at my cousin Brian's wedding a week ago. Precious!

Pomegranate Paradise

My contribution to the family Thanksgiving dinner revolved around the dessert table, as usual. Thanks to a couple of my friends at school, I've received some magnificent cake recipes this year. Kate and I recently experimented with a pumpkin cake and cream cheese icing. I can't even explain the scrumtralescence of that first bite. Kelly gave me the idea of adding pomegranate seeds as a garnish, not only because the individual seeds resembele jewels (garnets), but also because the blend of flavors--pumpkin, cream cheese sweetness, and the pomegranate burst of soury goodness--makes it the perfect Fall food. Hands down!

This is what it looked like when it all came together.

We also had a black raspberry pie, as well as a pecan pie. Only one of which I tasted (because I love fruit pies).

Kelly provided some interesting facts about pomegranates (I love fun facts!):

Every pomegranate is composed of exactly 840 seeds, each surrounded by a sac of sweet-tart juice contained by a thin skin. The seeds are compacted around the core in a layer resembling honeycomb. The layers of seeds are separated by paper-thin white membranes which are bitter to the tongue.

The fruits are ripe when they have developed a distinctive color and make a metallic sound when tapped.

The pomegranate is equal to the apple in having a long storage life. It is best maintained at a temperature of 32° to 41° F. and can be kept for a period of 7 months within this temperature range and at 80 to 85% relative humidity without shrinking or spoiling. The fruits improve in storage, becoming juicier and more flavorful.

I also tried my hand at another recipe I found online for Pomegranate Grenadine. I was shocked to find that it was the central ingredient for the syrup that we all enjoy in Shirley Temples. I thought it'd be a nice addition to our beverage table, what with blackberry wine, water, and milk.

The recipe I had for the grenadine claimed it took about 10 minutes to prepare. That is, of course, after the time it takes to collect all of the seeds from the skin (a time consuming task). I enjoyed it, though, because I'd never handled this fruit before. Here is a picture of the process:

After 3 hours of peeling out the seeds, stirring them over a low flame, squeezing and pressing out the remaining juices through a very small hand-held strainer with the handle of an ice cream scoop (the only thing we had that closely resembled a pestle), and then adding sugar and stirring over the flame again - all I had was a cup and a half of sweet-potato-smelling red goo. It was not good and stunk to high heaven.

Leslie made fun of me mercilessly for wasting my time. But in all honesty, I didn't mind that much. I had nothing else to do and I had tried something new. It failed, but now I know not to do that again. I'll buy grenadine next time I need it.

The pomegranate experiment, however, with the pumpkin cake was pulled off with perfection. You should definitely try that. The pomegranate season lasts from October to January, I believe, so get one soon. And let me know what you think.

a long reprieve

I'm going home. Which is exciting in and of itself. I don't have to go to the grocery or "cook" for myself. I don't have to get up early or go to bed before I crash. These are good things.

I'm going home for a week. Eight lovely days. This is needed, considering I'm going crazy in my little room. But there is one other thing to look forward to, and that is moving into my own apartment.

I found out yesterday that I now have somewhere to live when I start my job in January. It's a lovely apartment and will be at least four times the space I have right now. Ah! Space!

I can't even express how thrilled I am to move on, to reach the stage of life I've been dreaming about since I was 8 years old - adulthood. Up till now I've been a student, which in a way is mutually exclusive from adulthood, at least for single students.

A friend of mine has mentioned several times how interesting it will be to see if I change or how I react to having a normal schedule without the pressure of homework and due dates, etc.

I hope to be freer - both with regard to my time and internally. To get back to the point where I can sit in silence or be still without feeling like I should be doing something else. Not that I think adult life means no stress. Of course I've been around long enough to have observed that everyone has stressors. I'm seeking balance. That's what I really want to find.

Today I realized the significance that creating music has in my life. Over the past six years I have progressively reduced this process from my life. Maybe this is why I've grown more and more unbalanced as I've finished my degrees. The joy of making music, being the origin of that beautiful experience, is something I cannot wait to reintroduce to my life. Just a few short weeks. Or a month, maybe two.

I forgot to mention the 4th thing that made me nervous in the wedding.

#4) When the officiante said my most hateful word not once, but twice in his less than ten minute charge to the bride and groom. I thought I was going to fall over. Elaine was laughing so hard behind me, she was shaking, and across the aisle, Ben, the guy I walked down with, he was laughing, too. They both knew I was struggling to contain my revulsion.

I was in the most wonderful wedding this weekend. Liz and Chalupa got married, and although at times it felt as if it all happened very quickly, I find myself wanting to say, "it's about time!" Probably because they were made for each other.

Practical Liz is so organized that for the bridesmaids, at least, the wedding day wasn't stressful. I hope the same can be said for her.

There were a few times I was really nervous, however, throughout the event on Saturday.

#1) As I stepped up to the microphone to read the Middle English poem that Liz had picked out years ago for this very day, in order to keep my hands from shaking while holding the paper on which the poem was written (with my pronunciation hints), I ended up directing all the nervous energy to my legs. It felt as if my entire body, except my hands, was shaking. I was sure it was obvious from the audience, so I kept my eyes glued to the sheet of paper I was clutching.

#2) When I heard the cds that Liz had picked out for the reception were MIA, I realized that the music a typical DJ would play at a wedding would be completely inappropriate for this wedding. And when Michael W. Smith came on...I knew something was wrong. Five minutes later when Celine Dion blasted from the speakers, I almost passed out. Not because I was overjoyed. Not because I was disgusted. But because, despite my affinity for her, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Celine is the last musician on earth that Liz would want to hear on her wedding day. Luckily, before any more CCM treasures made it to the playlist, the DJ found her cds. All was well after that.

#3) While I enjoyed immensely catching up with some of my favorite people in the world, I was shocked to discover that some strangers wanted to converse with me. One in particular must have made a bet with his friends, something like "I bet you won't go talk to her"...followed by a shaking of hands. I say this because he sat down introduced himself and said, "So, you speak Middle English...there, I broke the ice." I was nervous at that point, because I realized what it was. And the next few words out of his mouth, "I've been meaning to come talk to you all night," cemented my need for nervousness. Bless his heart, he tried. He must have talked for nearly an hour. His friends on the dance floor were laughing at him the whole time. He covered every base - every topic he could muster. But it all came down to his parting comment: "Here's my proposal for you."

At that point, friends, I stopped him and asked that he never use that word in my presence again. "I hate that word," I said, completely deadpan. After asking for the story behind this detestation, I was saved from having to hear his "proposal" or "non-proposal," as he tried to revise it after hearing my story. I got up to say goodbye to my good friends and from that point I every so slowly, but deliberately moved away from this man. He made me anxious. (not in that cute "he makes me nervous" sort of way, either)

For a wedding weekend, I think being nervous only 3 times is pretty spectacular.

Congratulations, Liz and Chalupa!

the perfect lunch

coffee and poptarts

the nonsense continues

Whispered to me by a fellow classmate at the coffee kiosk during a 15-minute break from a 3-hour philosophical discussion of rhetoric, language, and "human science"...

"Are you bored out of your skull?"

I could think of no better description for my current state of mind.

As a follow up to yesterday's happiness is...

Happiness is practicing a Middle English love poem to read at a friend's wedding.

Happiness is...

A bag of marshmallows

Finding a childhood story come alive

Graduating with your best friends

Achieving a life-long dream

Celebrating with a Birthday buddy!

Reuniting with old friends

Seeing a butterfly emerge from a cocoon

Kissing the Blarney Stone

Playing with old toys

That first bite of birthday cake

Dressing up for Halloween

Spending time with sisters

Happiness is knowing that you are loved no matter where you are, no matter who you are, no matter what.

Thank you to everyone who reminds me daily how lucky I am to be loved, to know true happiness.

My latest poem

It has no title, but was inspired during class this past week.

His words bounce around my mind like bubbles: pretty, yet elusive and meaningless.

This is how I feel...

"My Rules"

If you want to marry me, here's what you'll have to do:
You must learn how to make a perfect chicken-dumpling stew.
And you must sew my holey socks,
And soothe my troubled mind,
And develop the knack for scratching my back,
And keep my shoes spotlessly shined.
And while I rest you must rake up the leaves,
And when it is hailing and snowing
You must shovel the walk... and be still when I talk,
And -- hey -- where are you going?

From Where The Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein.

Today's greatest definition

this is the given definition to a term for one of my courses:

"the agreed amount of time between when a content creator creates content and the time the content creator allows for the content to appear on the content provider's system."

What is it about that statement that makes sense to anyone?

Crazy librarians.

House-sitting is wonderful. It's so quiet here - so removed from things I know and am used to. I hadn't realized how restorative absolute quiet can be. Only the dogs' snoring beside me infringes, and that, even, is more organic than 12-year-olds screaming or rock music blaring from bad speakers or muted Arabic accents through the walls, and therefore more palatable.

After putting 300 miles on my car yesterday (for very good reasons, I might add), I was relaxing in front of a movie when Maddie called. Because her parents were leaving for a Halloween costume party, she told me she was calling to find "some entertainment on the phone." We talked about pre-school and the Halloween party they are throwing on Monday - complete with live ponies for riding and candy give-aways and costumes.

As clothes are her current life's passion, she began describing in extreme detail the ensembles of her "Around-the-World" doll collection. But by the time she got to Doll #5, she wondered aloud if I wouldn't be more interested in talking about something else. "There are so many dolls left," she said. Her second passion is reading and storytelling, of course, and I was grateful that Kelly had some kids' books behind the couch that I could read to Maddie over the phone. Kinda lame, but when a 4-year-old asks for stories over and over, rehashing the childhood memories you've told her a million times is boring. And on-the-spot creativity has never been my forte.

But tonight I'm distraught. The mother of one of Maddie's friends died today. She had a premie about a month ago--the baby is at home; stable, but watched closely--and they thought everything was fine. She was home with the kids when she had a heart attack, somehow related to her pregnancy. And she's gone. 3 kids. One barely even alive itself.

I met her in August at our princess tea party. Lovely woman. So sweet, so kind.

It's incomprehensible. And there's nothing I can do.

Did you know?

that according to the Oxford English Dictionary spaghetti is the plural form of spaghetto.

That means, when I was a kid and my mom would hand me a single strand of raw pasta to eat while she was cooking, I was munching on a spaghett-O.

In other news, I got a nifty button-up sweater at Goody's yesterday for $14.31. It was 40% off along with an additional 20% or so for shopping on that particular day. What a nice surprise. And I was warm, today, because of it.

It's true that my work schedule isn't ideal. I work on Sundays, Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays. Which means I have few opportunities to leave town.

However, I have so many "fun" things going on this semester, that I have been able to finagle other into switching shifts with me several times so I can have a weekend away.

When I do that, sometimes it comes back to bite me. For instance, I just looked at my schedule and realized that I will have worked Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday beginning this past Thursday. That's five days in a row with a one day break before working three days in a row.

Who am I to complain? Real people with Real jobs have to work 6-7 days a week.

True.

But I'm not a real person with a real job just yet. I'm a disgruntled student.

My friend took this picture at a shindig on her property this summer. Nice job, Kel.

p.s.

I feel happy.

No, it's not just a feeling.

I am at peace. For the first time maybe ever. Despite my surroundings, my circumstances, I am content.

God is so good.

Apology

I apologize to my readers, and to You, dear Internet, for being so lackidaisical in my blogging.

One would think that I interact with so many people every day that I surely must have things to share. And I do. But by the time I sit through 3 hours of class, take the bus, drive home from the busstop and sit down in front of my computer, I can't remember a single thing, except the work which is always hanging over my head.

I've been motivating myself with the thought of no homework and free weekends in the near future. And so, I dive in with the intention of completing all of my work as quickly as possible. Of course, nothing is that simple.

My sheets need washing, as does the quilt covering my bed, since the cats have decided to make it their new bathing blanket - eww. I always need to go to the grocery as I'm always lacking food because I'm always hungry. I can't figure out why or how I'm hungry 24-7. But it's a fact, people. Just call me Hungry-Hungry Hippo.

Has everyone heard of this amazing thing called Pandora: the Music Genome Project? If you haven't, please check it out. It is a sort of online radio - but you can make an account and specify which artists and types of music you want, and if they send something your way that you don't like, you can tell them. And they'll never play it again on your station. Oh, you can create multiple stations - in case you like country and 80's ballads and alternative music. That way, you don't have to mush them all together. Pick a station for your particular mood. These people are brilliant!

In another vein, I love this time of year - when you can be cold and warmed by the sun at the same time - when the copses of trees change to brilliant gold overnight - when walking briskly is most enjoyable - when tea, hot cider, or coffee is always the perfect treat, at any moment.

However, I also made note that yesterday, October 19th, 2006, was the first day that my fingers turned that deathly white color from lack of blood flow and frigidness. In October?! That's a record.

I think I'm going to freeze at Liz's wedding.

The circus in which I live

I found out from a voice mail message that "we" were dog-sitting for a giant German shepard named Boston this weekend.

Lucky for me, I was at an amazing concert last night and then stayed at Liz's to escape the madness (and because it's fun to have sleepovers at age 24).

When I arrived back in B-town after sharing a Mexican lunch and margaritas with my most beloved opera singer (Cat) and lounging at Liz's for the rest of the afternoon, I found Boston - a 3-year-old sweetheart - waiting inside the front door. His eyes show him to be nervous about his dog-sitting experience, despite the fact that he outweighs all of the other animals in this small mad-house.

In all honesty, Boston doesn't fit here. He's too big to turn around in most spaces here without knocking something valuable off of a table or chair or slamming himself into a hard surface. All he wants is to be petted - but I'm not fond of petting dogs, as they smell like, well, Dog.

Wial - the Saudi Arabian 18-year-old who I share the basement with - said to me, "That is BIG dog." Then he paused before going on, "No, that a tiger, not a dog."

I guess they don't have pets in Saudi Arabia, especially not big dogs in small houses. Poor Boston. Poor Wial.

*sigh

Did I mention that I have only 8 weeks from today before I can graduate and move on?

This is why

...today royally sucked, including, but not limited to the following situations: a forced, long-awaited meeting with a jerk who brought a lawyer and subsequently threatened me and two of my favorite people with a lawsuit. I then had to shake hands (twice!) with Creepy McCreeperson, himself, after listening to his drivel for a good hour and 15 minutes. Directly thereafter, I sat through class, which could not have been more boring or a bigger waste of 3 hours of my life. The icing on the cake was that I missed the last 5 minutes of Grey's Anatomy.

Yet despite all of that, I'm oddly content.

It may have to do with the fact that I've finally realized I only have 2 more months of school, of living in this dump, of sharing a rank bathroom, of carrying my food from one floor to the other to prepare and eat it...2 months before I begin life anew - as a professional, an educated working woman.

For those realizations, I'm grateful.

If you want to know what I've been up to lately...

...I can tell you.

Since Wednesday I have:

~ watched the season premier of Lost with good friends
~ learned how to iron a dress shirt, something I rarely wear
~ interviewed for my first real job
~ polished off a bottle of my favorite wine with one of my favorite people
~ watched the most amazing Harvest Moon rise 3 evenings in a row, and witnessed it's magnificent brilliance in the early morning darkness as I drove to breakfast at IHOP
~ landed my first real job
~ shared pizza and a movie with my cousin Stephanie, truly my second self
~ driven over 300 miles
~ played games, roasted marshmallows, and grilled burgers with my parents, brother and sister-in-law, and my sister, Leslie, who has spent the past 6 months hiking the Appalachian Trail

What I have not done:

~ worked at a Reference desk
~ slept well
~ gone to class
~ missed being at school or in my teeny dorm-like room (or sharing the pee-smelling bathroom)

A young boy was overheard in church making the statement that

"Jesus is King of the chickens."

"Be serious," says his Sunday school teacher.

"I am."

There I was, doing what every good Reference Assistant does when they are bored, filling the printers with paper and arranging the discarded or neglected print outs into piles.

And I noticed atop a document formatted like a class assignment, a name--a very distinct name--of a girl with whom I attended high school. I'm quite convinced that no other girl in the world could have this name...and there was her paper in my hands.

I didn't have any idea she was at this school.

With a vengeance

They're back.

Not just the leggings under the mini, crotch-showing jean skirts.

No, not just the leggings. Also the flats. A look taken together that I have never understood.

That's not what disturbs me the most about this year's undergrad fashion.

It's the leg-warmers that are throwing me off this week. High-heels. Flats. Tennis shoes. Keds.

You name it, I've seen it.

Why are these fashions appealing?
Someone explain this to me.

It is a true friend

with whom you can share Middle English poetry and both of you are overjoyed and overwhelmed by its beauty.

It's an even truer friend who will share it with you over the phone.

You know how it never works out the way you need it to....

...whatever "it" may be?

My bathroom smells like pee.

Not because someone pees all over it - it's actually fairly clean for a tiny space shared by a foreign 18-year-old male and myself.

No, the bathroom smells like pee because...well that's actually the question: why does the bathroom have this acrid stench?

My landlord called her landlord who called the maintenance guy. It took him eight days to show up, and when he did, I was doing laundry, still in my pajamas with dirty hair at 11:30 am. Sometimes, when laundry is going in the utility room which shares a wall with our rank bathroom, the stench dissipates. Which is what happened the day the maintenance man came - Tony, I think his name is. Or Tom.

He likes cats a lot. Swore to himself growing up he was a dog man, but then this sweet blue-haired something or other cat came to his door and he fell in love with her. He started feeding her and then she gave birth to three babies before he even knew what happened. She abandoned her kittens with him, knowing he was a good man, a converted cat-lover. So now, he has these baby blue-haired something or other kittens, which his daughters adore.

He told me this story while sitting on the lid of our commode in the tiny bathroom, as I stood in my bedroom doorway in a cloud of my own filth.

The bathroom didn't smell that day. The lingering pee stench had evaporated, so Tom or Tony said.

To be fair, he smoked a lot. Not while he was here, but when he walked in, I choked on the tar/nicotine aura surrounding him. He couldn't smell because, I think, his nose has stopped working. You know how smokers have that weezing noise whenever they try to sniff - the sense of smell is deadened.

While the bathroom stench had let up for the day, it wasn't gone. Just mixed anew with the smokey pleasure of cigarettes.

He played with the cats for a while, cleaned out the fan on the bathroom ceiling and left because there was nothing he could do.

The next day, it returned - the pee smell.

It's really bad today.

There is something disconcerting about opening a box of cereal to find a surprising, yet very sweet, delicious aroma coming from the box.

Vanilla Creme shredded wheat is not the same as normal frosted shredded wheat.

Oops.

Culture from two realms

Yesterday and today marked my annual semester weekend excursion. It wasn't so much that I traveled anywhere physically, but participated in activities unusual to my daily, monthly, yearly routine.

I attended my first real opera: Don Giovanni. Despite the long day that Friday turned out to be, the opera, which brought my near-twin cousin Stephanie to town to visit, was well worth the three hour duration of the show, the short time standing in line to get good seats, the dressing up, the whole shebang. Steph and I decided that if it weren't for Leoporello, Giovanni's servant, and Zerlina and Masseto, the opera would have dragged. But with their antics, it was fabulous. I loved the music more than the story. Well done, Mozart!

Today, I awoke to a rain storm and a flood watch from Weather.com. Not promising, since Evan and Emily were driving down here to take me out to the football game. When they got here, we debated all during lunch at Lennie's and even after when shopping for our team's paraphenalia, about sitting through a long game in the pouring rain or going to the movies to see Hollywoodland. We decided on the movie, and just before leaving downtown for the theatre, Dad called from Maine, where he and Mom had just arrived. It stopped raining in the seven minutes Ev was on the phone, so Em and I bought ponchos and we decided we were going to the game.

It was the best decision. We had a blast and had great seats on the end zone. The team didn't do well, but they didn't do poorly either. They lost, but only by a touchdown.

I'm tired. All of this socializing, even if it is with people who don't require me to entertain them and even if we're doing fun things that I enjoy, it wears me out. I'm used to being alone in my small room.

Now, it's back to the drawing board to finish a work assignment for a professor, to finish one class assignment and start another, and to sleep the sleep of contentment and happiness.

Cheers to a weekend well spent! To homecomings and moments of rest! To new jobs and new lives! To weddings! To life!

Love's Autograph

Once only did he pass my way.
"When wilt thou come again?
Ah, leave some token of thy stay!"
He wrote (and vanished) "Pain."

John B. Tabb
Poems by John B. Tabb.
1894

For my mother, my sister, my aunt, and all others who suffer as we do

To the insomniacs everywhere, I dedicate this poem from one of the most surprising and delightful discoveries of my college career, Poems by John B. Tabb, originally pub. 1894.

THE AGONY.

I wrestled, as did Jacob, till the dawn,
With the reluctant Spirit of the Night
That keeps the keys of Slumber. Worn and white,
We paused a panting moment, while anon
The darkness paled around us. Thereupon ---
His mighty limbs relaxing in affright ---
The Angel pleaded: "Lo, the morning light!
O Israel, release me, and begone!"

Then said I, "Nay, a captive to my will
I hold thee till the blessing thou dost keep
Be mine." Whereat he breathed upon my brow;
And, as the dew upon the twilight hill,
So on my spirit, over-weared now,
Came tenderly the benediction, Sleep.

I don't know WHAT the deal is

today, I started crying twice for absolutely no reason.

And THAT is not the reason. My emotions should be stable.

First, it was a song on the radio.

Then, I was reading my cousin's blog about her and her husband's journey to adopt two children.

What's going on in my mind?

Birthday photos

Just a couple for those of you who don't check out the GOFR.

Chocolate, anyone?

New boxers! Yay for a seamstress mother!


New necklace from the grandparents - beautiful.

I realized today that

for the first time in six or seven years, I make my bed every day.

I must be growing up.

The Depth of Fall

Fall is deep. Unlike Winter, which is shallow, the icy cold chilling your bones. You could never go deep enough to get warm. Unlike Summer, when the heat is so oppressive, a heavy weight, that the very idea of depth is abhorrent. Spring, with everything blooming and the showers of color, speaks of Life, everything is light and free. But Fall. Fall is Deep. Like an ancient well, cool to the touch, full of history and meaning, but only if you search it out. You can find warmth in sweatshirts and jeans; comfort. Fall is an extension of the best hug you've ever had.

There is another aura about Fall that makes me love it. The Melancholiness. While there is so much loveliness - the break from the heat and humidity of Summer, the Leaves turning, the Air crisping, there is always a sense of longing, a creeping sadness or gloom that descends throughout the passing of this season. The gloom is, of course in part, the promise of Winter.

I haven't figured out if it is the drawing to a close of the year that brings on the sadness, or something greater, something deeper that speaks to the heart and soul. So much has been accomplished by this time of th year, making it, also, a time of reflection. For some, it might bring a sense of awe or joy, but for others, there is so much left to do and not enough time. Before Winter and the suffocating depth of darkness every day.

I wonder if there is a significant percentage of those born in the Fall who are Melancholies. I am. My cousin is (or so I think, since she and I are near duplicates of each other). There are more. My best friend. I could go on, but I'll stop there.

Today I was searching for poems about September, because I love this month and I was in need of some good poetry. I didn't really find anything online worth documenting here, so I asked Kelly to write me a September poem.

In September
they come back. The locusts
and the undergraduates and
that
one
crazy
lady
who carries carrot cookies in a plastic
department store bag. It is
the start of a year, like
Fiscal or
Chinese New. When it's over they
will leave and she will
find more cookies.

Please feel free to leave your September poem with me. I promise to appreciate it.

When the Dean spoke in class

I was admiring his perfect Irish accent.

He's from there, you see, and his eyes look somewhat like Liam Neeson's. He was raised in Ireland and thus endured the Irish school system, all the way through Trinity College.

This is why I believe he sounds exactly like our Irish head-mistress extraordinairre - Miss Stella.

The monotone, extremely soft, even luxurious sounding voice - it's precisely the same voice, Stella and Mr. Dean.

Elaine, you simply would not believe this. Come meet him (well, it's hard enough for us to find him, he is so averse to library students, but if you catch him [perhaps he's like a leprechaun in that way] - you'll know exactly what I'm talking about).

I made an astute comparison

about my fingers recently.

When held up, with the tips pointed heavenward, my fingers resemble middle-aged women:

heavy on the bottom

I rest my case - they're ugly fingers.

Dad to me, as I open presents

It's an anklet!

about the 18-inch silver, sparkly chain my grandparents gifted me this past weekend.

Does he think I have Cankles??

4 days of festivities to make up for it

Today's my 24th birthday. But it seems like every other day.

I drove 3 hours. Unpacked a weekend's worth of stuff (including loads of scrumtrulescent leftovers). Read some. Went to class. Read some more. And will soon complete the evening with a movie (still debating with myself as to which one).

The weekend, however, was incredible and more than makes up for the dump of a day that today turned out to be (even if it was a perfect Fall day).

I've come to believe that my birthday actually falls on a day of the week - like Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday, and Easter on a Sunday. My special day is on the Saturday before Labor day, the reason being the influx of family that floods our house on the following Sunday and Monday. This year it was 37 people the most populated dinner. And that's missing a branch of the family that totals about 20 more people! This family is huge. And has more reunions than I know what to do with.

This year being the finest Fall that I can remember, made for a perfect weekend. Lots of outdoor games and eating on the patio without pitting out a shirt from the exertion of putting fork to mouth combined with 100% humidity. None of that.

I missed my twin, however, that is, my cousin Stephanie who is so similar to myself I wonder how we weren't twins. We're born 11 months apart to the day and have, since childhood, had similar personalities and interests to the point of scariness, at times. She's another friend like the ones I mentioned a few days ago. Same thoughts. Same minds.

Here's a toast to 24. Kelly says it was the best year of her life, no wait. It was the year she thought she was 24, but was really 23. Oh well. It seemed like 24 was the best. And I'll take that. Lots of exciting things coming up soon!

My friend, Kate

It seems odd to me that no matter where I go in life - from high school to college to grad school - I find someone who shares a surprising (should I say disturbing) number of characteristics with me.

When we were 18, Amanda and I had many similarities, but it was only the tip of the iceberg, really, because when I moved on to college, I found Elaine. She and I, even still, have many of the same hobbies, interests, and say the same things at the same time. Dumb things. Things that come out as Grandpa or Dad jokes.

Now, I have Kate to add to this list of crazies. Tonight we decided to come up with a list of our differences, not to create an impasse, but to celebrate the things we don't share, since it seems every time I see her we'll go through this cycle:

Kate: "I like this (where this could be any random thing, idea, or occurrence in the world)."
Me: "Oh! So do I!"
Kate: "Of course you do."

It doesn't even have to be things we Like - it can be dislikes and it can be things that happen to us. Tonight it was that our eyes are almost always red in pictures - you know, the devil red-eye problem.

So, as to our differences, this is the list so far. I will update it from time to time, as we discover more:

- Muppets
Kate loves the Muppets, whereas I do not like them. I do like Fraggle Rock, but that is the extent of my affections. Sometimes I wonder if Kate had the opportunity to be a Muppet, if she would do it. She owns all of their videos, seasons from their TV show, paraphenalia to be sure, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had a few movie soundtracks.

- Avocados
Again, this is something that I dislike and she likes. But this is simple. I don't like avocados or their derivatives. She does.

Granted, there is one other major issue, no, not issue, per se, but difference. I like to think of it as a uniting factor, however, because these characteristics can be grouped under the heading of Food Allergies.
Kate is allergic to wheat, rye, barley and such things.
I am allergic to nuts, peanut butter in particular (which is my favorite food - a later-in-life developed allergy), and sesame products.

Neither allergy is deathly, although we're both convinced that over time, if we were to continue eating our respective black-listed foods, we would die from exposure to the foods.

It's reassuring to have friends just like me. Or at least, almost just like me.

Not everyone's perfect

Reading further in the article, I see that Warren Buffet supports population control.

He also, being a major share-holder of Coke stock, drinks up to 15 cokes per day.

I found an article on Google about a man who's birthday was today - Warren Buffet.

Warren is estimated to be the 2nd wealthiest man in the world; he's worth $42 billion.

The mini biography stated that in June of this year, Warren committed to give away 85% of his wealth. "[This] is the largest act of charitable giving in United States history," stated The Free Dictionary article.

It also adds that " Despite his immense wealth, Buffett is famous for his unpretentious and frugal lifestyle. He continues to live in the same house in Omaha he bought in 1958 for $31,500." And he only makes about $100,000 annually as a senior executive of Berkshire Hathaway, his company.

I think this is a pretty remarkable man. Rare in today's world - I wonder if my generation could ever churn out someone with so much foresight and such a sense of responsibility to future generations.

This little piggie went to market. This little piggie stayed home. This little piggie had roast beef. This little piggie had none. This little piggie

had too many drinks and lost his way home.

Prominent headline in the student paper today:

5 drunken students hospitalized
14 found unconscious or vomiting since Wednesday

As if this is a new occurrence. The article speaks of administrators and councilors pondering whether this indicates an increase in the number of parties on/near campus. I say, these are kids who have no rule-givers and tend to take advantage of that situation.

I'm not condoning debaucherous evenings. I think kids who drink themselves into a coma have problems, the least of which may be they are stupid. It's all about choices, people. Do you want to spend the night on the concrete or asphalt of a parking lot because you drank too much? I can think of at least 100 other places I'd rather be.

The article issues in a new academic year, replete with, as Kate so eloquently put it, "children masquerading as students." I would say, as adults.

I miss the quiet peacefulness of Summer without undergrads. The lack of bass thumping from tinted SUVs speeding down side streets. The lack of slutty outfits on girls hardly old enough to understand the statements they're making. The lack of camaradarie between people who know the secrets of this rural city (this is buried now beneath the human mass of students of every sort). Too many perfectly tanned, manicured, and attired people. Too many to count. Too many to avoid.

I must be a country girl at heart.

I almost forgot

I love visiting my sister and her family, if for nothing else than the amusement of seeing a household run at a StarTrek warp-like speed.

This week, however, some very strange things have taken place.

First, as is typical, my brother-in-law asked me to step in and work for a day. That's fine - nothing like making a few bucks on vacation. I became receptionist extraordinaire for Forman Motorsport on Friday. Within fifteen minutes of stepping into his office, I got a mind-crushing headache. It felt like my head was swollen to three times it's size, ready to burst. It was a fairly quiet day in the office, so I tried reading a book to make the time pass, but began to feel nauseated as I read. I tried doing some computer work, but the scrolling and page-jumping made me sea-sick.

Emily and the girls brought lunch-manicotti and salad-and I could hardly eat without feeling sick to my stomach. When they left, I couldn't hold my head up. I'd cradle my aching head in my hands or bury it in my arms on the desk, only to find I'd fallen asleep for a few minutes at a time. Not good when you're supposed to be the front face of the business. Car detailers and painters came and went, and I must have looked like I was on drugs. I couldn't hold a decent conversation. I got up at least three times, rushing to the bathroom, sure I was going to lose it. Then I feared fainting, like I did two summers ago at work. My overactive imagination picturing what I'd look like after cracking my skull on the tile floor with no one discovering me for hours.

As soon as Franz and Scott returned, I took off in the loaner Mercedes, making it home in time to crash in bed, where I stayed from 4:30 pm until 8 am the next day.

As if that episode wasn't enough. Yesterday, Em and I wanted to go hiking in the deserty mountains before church. We got up and just as we readied ourselves to leave, my nose started gushing blood. NEVER do I get nosebleeds. I remember once in 2nd grade, that's it.

Around 5:30 that night, I got another.

This morning, as we got ready to hike - another.

3 nosebleeds within 24 hours...what is going on?

Last night, I got up from the dinner table to find that my pajama pants (a gift from Leslie a few years ago) had not only ripped a 3-inch hole in the front (which I've known about for a while) but had also ripped a horizontal line by the back pocket, exposing my backside to the world. Now the nickname I've used for my friends for a few years - Chics, short for Chica - took on an entirely new meaning.

Disconcerting, all of this! I think the nosebleeds have officially freaked Maddie out - though I haven't involved her on purpose. The late-afternoon one yesterday occurred while I was playing with her. There was no hiding it then. And this morning, she found me in my bathroom, holding a kleenex to my nose. "Why, Lana? Why do you get bloody noses?"

For this, I have no answer!

Just to be fair

Here are some new pictures of Katie - the most precious baby ever!
For the Princess Party, Katie decided being a cowgirl would be more fun.

Party #1

Two days after landing in AZ, we threw Maddie a Princess Tea Party. 6 little girls ages 3-4 came over in the princess regalia. Here are some of the better shots.

Maddie in her finest Belle outfit and looking very proud!

How many princesses can fit in one little house (or castle, should I say)?

Movie time! Cinderella to the rescue (to which they only paid attention for about 5-1/2 minutes).

Vacation to my Home away from Home

I've been delayed in posting because of a trip, or two trips, to be exact.

The first was to Chicago to meet new people and hang out with one of my favorite people. Not only was I able to check out her new crib and roomies, but we had plenty of time to unwind: reading, napping, walking around Lincoln Square, and coffee-shopping (a new verb). It was a perfect-weather weekend with just the right amount of sun mixed with breeze.

I took a 2 1/2 hour train ride to get to Chicago, traveling with my nieces and sister (who you can find here). Entertaining a 15-month old and a 3-3/4 year old can prove challenging, and I'm afraid some people were ticked at the sometimes screaming, sometimes toddling baby. Maddie was fairly under control with coloring, stories, playing pretend, and some tiny M&Ms that her great-grandma sent along for the trip.

Within 24 hours of arriving back at my parents' place, Em, the girls and I were off on another adventure - this time a 3-1/2 hour plane ride to Arizona. As is typical for my luck, our flight was cancelled due to mechanical difficulties, and we were stuck in the airport for 6-1/2 hours. What would have been a long day to begin with became interminable. Even though the girls both passed out from exhaustion while we waited, they were done by the time we boarded the plane. We were all delirious by the time we hit the Phoenix airport.

We've caught up on sleep by now (only 5 days later), and we're trying to pack in as much fun as possible.

Unbelievable

I chose this, I know.

But sometimes I feel like I don't know what happened, and someone else was making all the decisions the day that I became an adult. One day, I was a normal person, the next I was agreeing to move in with a family (mom and 12-year-old son) that I didn't know. Suddenly, yet before I moved in (after I'd agreed) they lived in a different house and the entire situation changed, only I lacked the mental capacity to process what was happening because I was uber-stressed by school. Then it was sharing a bathroom with a boy from Saudi Arabia. Then came puddles of water on the bathroom floor and head hairs all over the sink and floor every day. (Not to be stereotypical, but I'm not sure he's showered since I moved in a week ago--it's the mysterious smell emenating from his room, which is about 2 feet from my door.)

Then, today came.

A Japanese foreign-exchange student is taking J's room for a month, sometime between Aug and Sept.

It was that smile (Elaine, you know the one) - the plastic, oh-my-gosh-did-you-just-say-that tilt of the corners of my mouth. Noncommittal, yet plastered to my face. "Wow." was all I could muster. Not an excited exclamation, either. She heard the tone. She saw my eyes--steel, maybe.

As if my insensitive, formerly conservative-Christian now religiously-confused, wanna-be-my-best-friend, absolutely grating instructor wasn't overwhelming my ultra-thin nerves enough. As if being in school for a full calendar year won't make a person insane and unstable on its own. As if wanting to live alone, yet never quite getting it to work out won't drive a person mad in 25 minutes of sharing living quarters with a 12-year-old, no matter how nice, sweet, or cool he is.

Someday, I will look back on this patchwork family and say, That was such a fun way to live, such a random and interesting story to share. Right now, I'm pissed.

Should I not have been asked if it was okay to bump up the house load by one more person? Do I live here, too?

Last night I heard this when the TV came blaring on outside my room, "J, turn that down. Lana's studying. Other people live here, too, you know." And then, they all continued to talk loudly in that same area for the next hour.

I'm venting, it's true. My nerves are shot. I finished my final project of the year and now have a 2 week break, that will start tomorrow night after a pointless and aggravating class that the instructor refused to cancel, even though no other class on campus (except for Bird's Lithuanian) is still meeting. That's because all classes have reached the maximum hours required/allowed for a single course. And the instructors understand that people are losing their minds and getting a little vicious.

Everyone except my lovely instructor. Everyone on campus, except for him.

After an amazing evening of hog roasting and drink toasting, I came back to my new home to sleep. I didn't sleep last night because someone (or 2 someones) was walking around above my bedroom for an hour and a half after I came home to crash. It disrupted my entire sleep and R.E.M. cycles.

Tonight, although I do honestly love this movie, it's freaking Titanic which they have BEGUN at 10:20pm. Does anyone know that it is a good 3 hour movie? Cause I do. I watched it 6 times in the theatre, no lies.

I have somewhere to be in the morning. And I'm not in the mood.

Not to be ungrateful, but this is Reason #3,621 Why I Hate Sharing Living Quarters with Anyone, I don't care who you are.

A New World

I'd never experienced a dissertation defense until today.

To be honest, I'd never had much interest in them - figuring they'd be full of technical or discipline-specific jargon so that I'd be sure to be lost in the first few minutes.

Today's observation changed my mind.

I can't remember (or find) the specific title of the dissertation, however, it was on the toxicity levels of TTX in rough-skinned newt eggs and something about coevolution of traits.

That this presentation, which lasted about an hour, was the culmination of 5 years of study and lab work simply blew my mind.

Now I'm all hyped up on attending dissertation defenses so I can learn, but also to see what interests people and to be amazed at their dedication to one particular research question. I don't know if I could ever pursue something like doctoral students do, but it's inspiring nonetheless to see students achieve something so great.

Congrats on a job well done, Liz!