But it hurts so bad

Why I will not have children, Reason #230741: They are germ magnets. And I have the immune system of someone w/advanced leukemia. So when you put me w/in a 12-ft. radius of a sick kid for an extended period of time (e.g., overnight babysitting of my friend Tess's child, who was actively carrying Babyfunkitis this past Fri.), the inevitable end result is me contracting whatever the little rodent had when I came in contact w/him or her. In this case, the ague seems to be your garden variety severe cold -- intermittent fever, neck stiff like a curare victim's, head throbbing dully and apparently inflated to six times normal size, sore throat that makes each swallow an occasion for tears, aches and pains that I dare even a stint in the Iron Maiden to rival, and a general inability to maintain consciousness for more than one episode of Dallas.

Earlier today, Steve thought it would be funny to put me in a headlock. This naturally put a lot of pressure on my pathetically swollen, angry glands and my stiff, tetanic neck muscles. I nearly punched him in the face. Steve didn't think that was funny, but I sure did.

When I was at CofC or St. Andrews, I would normally drag myself to class unless my condition was truly dire (which it never was) b/c I could manage to walk the two or three blocks, sit through class, and then ooze my way back to bed. Illness probably impaired my ability to actually learn much, but venturing forth under such physically non-ideal conditions made feel better b/c I could go home and collapse knowing that I had tried hard. Thus, I was quite distressed to realize that this was no longer possible when my alarm went off at 7 this morning. I missed school today for the first time in three yrs. -- inc. my twice-wkly. Physiology lecture I *really* shouldn't miss -- b/c I was too weak to drive the hr. to school, make it through the eight-hr. day, and then drive the hr. back home. I feel like such a weenie.

But that brings to mind a funny sight I saw this w/e -- Best Streetsign Ever: Black Weiner St.

I shit you not.

I'll try to get pics next time I'm in SAV.

Back to my Sucrets and Chloraseptic. mmmm....menthol I love you.

Smthg. less palaverous

Good word, that -- palaverous. Had thought of adding to the last entry as promised, but after seeing how long it was, I started thinking that a) the odds of anyone actually reading it in full were already quite slim, and b) it was probably for the best to simply move on to smthg. new and more brief. So that's what I'm doing, sharing a short(ish) tale of my daily life.

In Physics today, we started discussing light reflection in mirrors. After giving us a basic description of what mirrors are (highly polished glass w/a painted back), Dr. A walked over, stood directly in front of my desk, looked at me, and said in his precise, Nigerian-accented English, "You know all about dis, unh?" He then giggled and walked away. Assuming he meant that we all knew abt. mirrors b/c we all use them and that his pause in front of my desk was merely the sort that happens every class period b/c he's a pacer when lecturing and that his prolonged eye contact w/me was also the routine look he gives me to make sure I'm really awake (I've learned to sleep w/my eyes open -- gross), I thought little of this comment, laughed at him giggling, and went back to my notes.

But when abt. three mins. later there was a question abt. the direction of reflection in a mirror and he again walked over to me, repeated his question directly to me, and giggled again, it occurred to me that this was deliberate. But why the fuck would he be expecting me to know more abt. light reflecting in mirrors than anyone else in the class? I usually sit there smiling mildly, hoping he interprets this expression as enthusiasm for his class, and on the rare occasions that I do know enough to hazard a guess in answer to his questions, he usually either ignores me or can't hear me b/c I talk abt. Physics like I speak French -- quietly and self-consciously. So WTF was up w/the repeated, direct questioning? After seeing my look of suspicious confusion, Dr. A made his way back to the board and announced, "See, I am asking you dese tings becos girls use mirrors more dan bwoys. hee hee hee...."

Some of you may be thinking, "Why, that chauvinist African bastard!" but my immediate reaction was to jerk around in my seat and survey the motley remainder of our Physics class and exclaim, "Fuck, I AM the only girl left in here!" Approximately half the students in what was not a large class to begin with have dropped, leaving 10 of us behind, fervently hoping that it was not a mistake to hold fast and stay in the class beyond the last-day-to-withdraw-with-a-W date. And I am the only girl among that naive few. I cannot think of another class I have ever taken where that was the gender breakdown. It's a real switch fr. CofC's female-saturated population, let me tell you. It doesn't bother me, it just sort of snuck up on me, so it stands out as even stranger than it would otherwise be.

Dr. A reassured me with, "Oh, don't warry, I weel not peek on you all de time." heh.

I honestly wasn't in any way offended by his little joke b/c a) I've talked to him numerous times in his office abt. a variety of thgs. other than Physics and he seems to think I'm pretty smart, b) I do have one of the highest grades in the class right now, and c) he still raves abt. the quality of my lab reports fr. last semester (which makes me laugh b/c I never knew what I was doing), so I really don't feel that he thinks I am the average Georgia Southern twit, esp. since I'm the only chick w/the balls to stay in his class.

What did bother me is that his implication that I frequently stand admiring my reflected figure was such a gross (though accidental) misrepresentation of me. I don't like mirrors. I avoid them whenever possible and when I do use them, only rarely do I ever look at myself in full view. I'll look at whatever part of my reflection I need to -- my eyeball when I'm putting my contacts in, my hair when I'm trying to tame it, my eyelid when I'm putting makeup on -- but I do not generally take in the whole picture. Which leads to funny little incidents like one that happened yesterday where I don't recognize my own reflection. I went w/Steve to drop off his car at the mechanic's and noticed a girl in the lobby abt. 10 ft. away fr. me and I thought, "Wow, I like her hair!" And then I realized it was me, reflected in the one-way mirror of the mechanic's office. I laughed so hard -- I seriously did not identify that image as my own until I first processed that it was a one-way mirror and secondly made the connection that if that was a mirror, then the person standing in it must be me b/c there was no one else in the lobby. What an idiot.

But it's not as if Dr. A should be aware of this particular quirk of mine, so I don't know why it bothered me so much. Maybe b/c I *am* the only girl left in the class and I don't want them to think that I am like most GSU girls, planning to make it past Dr. A by batting my eyes, blushing, and bending over in front of him -- a lot. I want them to know that I am smarter than all of those girls and most of them, the boys left in my class, too. I want them to know that I am NOT like them. I am not really a Georgia Southern student, I am just here b/c of an unfortunate diversion in my heretofore respectable academic path.

For perhaps the first time ever, I want to set myself apart in an unconditional, completely close-minded sort of way. I want no connections made b/t myself and this student body, no common ground to be uncovered, no sleeper cell of interesting ppl. of the sort I would normally associate with to emerge. Which, paradoxically, makes me v. much like the ppl. I am eschewing so vehemently. My most common criticism of GSU is that its students are so small-minded, so narrow and sheltered w/no interest in expanding their views. But by continuing to cling to my absolute refusal to think anythg. good abt. this school, I am becoming the v. thg. I detest. It's a quandary. And while I can try to mean it the next time I think, "Well, the lake is pretty nice," or, "Not everyone here is retarded," or, "The curriculum doesn't have to be the best to be good enough," I think the fact that I have to try to mean it does not predispose my efforts toward success.

But I'll try.

B/C the lake *is* nice (esp. all the turtles and ducks), and it is *impossible* that everyone here is retarded (I have met at least five ppl. of reasonable intelligence, or who at least have enough common sense to make their company enjoyable), and the curriculum, while far fr. the best, will hopefully be enough to get me past the MCAT.

Home spun desperation's knowing/Inside your cover's always blown...

So I didn't realize how long it had been since I last wrote until Ben (finally) emailed me and criticized me in his typically polite, English way for dropping the ball. My bad. But while we're talking abt. ppl. dropping the ball, let's talk abt. how I hadn't heard fr. Ben in so long that I had actually begun to worry that he was dead. Really. I didn't think much of it at first, esp. since I've had trouble keeping track of time recently, but then I realized it had been more than a month than I heard even so much as a mocking blog comment fr. him. And then I started thinking abt. all the thgs. that could have happened. Maybe he'd gotten mugged and shot on the gritty streets of London. Maybe he'd been hit by a bus while crossing the street w/o looking b/c he was too busy ogling some fit girl across the way. Who knows, maybe he'd gotten overzealous w/noodles at Wagamama's and had some sort of fit that caused him to collapse in a lifeless heap on the floor. Point is, I was worried and was beginning to debate at what point it was appropriate to call a friend's family to enquire abt. his mortality. "Hi, Gina, this is jules. I spent a few days at your house back in November? Yes, it was one of the most pleasant visits I've ever had. Is Ben dead?" riiight. Mercifully, *the*very*day* that I was going to choke back my uncertainty and call Ben's parents, he saved me the embarrassment and left an especially know-it-all comment on my blog regarding the Longaberger basket. Seems quite fitting, really. After all, the only person I know who is more likely than Daniel to come back fr. the dead (real or imagined) just to show off his useless knowledge is Ben.

Desperate for a bit of fresh air and time alone, I took a weekend trip to Biltmore a couple of wks. ago. I had wanted to see Biltmore, the largest private home in America, for most of my life, and since Eli was in the great white north visiting his family and Steve was having one of his many "friends" over for the w/e, I figured it was as good a time as any to go. I rented a car (a Dodge Stratus, which made me laugh b/c I kept thinking of that old SNL skit w/Will Ferrell and Sarah Michelle Gellar -- "I DRIVE A DODGE STRATUS!! I deserve some respect!"), found a great deal on a hotel, packed my bag, and got the hell out of town, leaving behind a petulant Steve ("You've known I want to go there, too, I can't believe you're going w/o me!") and the dull box that now confines my life. I arrived in Asheville, NC, late Fri. night, reveled in the wonder that was my surprisingly nice hotel room (it was so cheap!), and enjoyed a "What Not to Wear" marathon as I fell asleep.

The next morning I braved the Winter Weather Advisory and took off in icy rain for Clemson to spend an afternoon w/my misguided brother, who was experiencing what was perhaps the first real crisis of his life. Naturally the coping method I suggested (after sufficiently discussing the situation to feel confident that it was more or less resolved) was alcohol. Lots. So we hit up the bars at 2pm and were rewarded with a "You want all of those drinks together? For the two of you?" fr. the slightly-older-than-middle-aged waitress behind the bar. heh. I don't think she was reassured when the following exchange took place as we were lvng.:

Waitress, looking concerned and a little awed (I'm sure she thought we wouldn't be able to get off of our bar stools): Y'all have a nice day, okay? You're not driving are you?
Me, slightly buzzed and amused that this total stranger was so concerned abt. our well-being: Oh, no, ma'am, we're walking, don't you worry.
Trey, having more difficulty containing his drunken glee: Yeah, we're walking -- to the next bar!!

hahaha... riiight... So we did walk to the next bar, where we had a few more drinks before I deposited Trey back at his dorm. He had an RA mtg. to get to at 530, and I received a rather amusing text msg. fr. him as I was driving back to Asheville. It said, "Holy shit, I'm supposed to lead a discussion tonight and I'm drunk!" heh. I enjoyed my drive back more than the drive there. (I get anxious when driving somewhere I've never been before b/c I worry that I've missed my turn and will wander forever in an unknown land. When I was little I didn't want to learn how to drive b/c I thought that I would one day take the wrong exit and never find my way home again.) Most of the drive was on smaller roads wending their ways through the soft mountains of upstate SC/western NC, which were covered in a mist that hovered just above them, allowing one to enjoy the hazy effect without being worried by hazardous roads.

The next morning I woke up early to a cold but clear, bright day. I stuffed my face at the complimentary breakfast buffet downstairs, packed up the car, checked out of my room, and started out for Biltmore. Turning in to the gates, I knew that I was going to love it. And I also knew I was so glad to be there alone, at least for my first visit. The driveway is smthg. like five miles long, and you go about two miles of it before getting to the welcome center/ticket distribution place. I was already wondering how much a yr.-long pass would be. When I got to the front of the line and learned that the cost was significantly reduced for the month of Feb., I couldn't say no. So now I have yr. pass to Biltmore. Pls. come visit me so that we can go. When I finally made it to the parking area, I scoffed at the tourists herding together at the shuttle stop, shivering in the early morning chill and looking at me as if I were actually wearing a dunce cap when I passed them by, opting instead to walk the half mile to the house. (Honestly, it's no wonder ppl. in this country are so fat. We're weenies. Lazy, stupid weenies.)

I was mildly surprised to find that, upon reaching the house, I was more taken with the view and the landscape than with the house itself. I'd always thought I would run toward the house like Melanie running to meet Ashley in GWTW, so long had I waited and wanted to see it, but instead I spent the next three hrs. running around the grounds, taking more pictures of trees and snow than anyone would care to see. At one point, I had to force myself to put my camera away and put my hands in my pockets b/c I was losing all sensation in my fingers. The gardens were a bit stark since it was winter, but there were a few early buds peeking through, glittering in a coating of ice that had yet to melt in the morning sun, and the conservatory was was a happy hideaway of tropical warmth and color which my frozen hands were especially happy to see. After spending nearly an hr. in the conservatory, I took off through the rest of the gardens in search of the "Woodland Trail," which turned out to be a path through the woods and over the hills that reminded me so much of Kemback Forest outside of St. A's that I felt happier than I have since the last time I went for a walk there w/Marion, Olley, Eamonn, and Abdul. In fact, most of the landscape reminded me greatly of Scotland, which is perhaps why I enjoyed it so much. Lost in my recent malaise and ennui, I had nearly forgotten what it was like to get so much pleasure out of simply walking and breathing. I've been desperate to get back to Scotland since I left it, and it was...soothing to find smthg. comparable to (though not quite as good as) the country that has oddly become more like home to me than that in which I have lived most of my life.

One further factor that made the morning so pleasant for me was that there was no one else around. Perhaps due to the rather low temperatures, no one seemed interested in walking the grounds further than the conservatory, leaving the snow untouched, the songbirds without competition, and creating a solitude of the rare sort that leads one to think, if only for the shortest time, that the world is yours and it is happy. What's great abt. having no one around is that you don't have to hear them, don't have to be constantly subjected to the aural assault that is human communication. It was so quiet that as the temperature rose (slightly), the ice coating the leaves in the trees started to melt and the sounds of the forest were increasingly punctuated by the delicate crackling of the ice separating from itself and from the leaves, followed, after an anticipatory silence, by the determined click of the water splashing onto the hard, still-frozen ground. Fucking Zen, I tell you.

The house itself was, of course, stunning. Though it was overshadowed by its natural environment, I do think Biltmore may be one of the best domiciles I have yet visited. The place is categorically huge; there's no two ways abt. it. But it manages to get its point across ("I have more money and living space than God") w/o making you choke on it and also w/o making you forget that it's a house. When I went to see Versailles last spring, it was hard to be impressed, really, b/c you couldn't take it seriously as a place where ppl. lived and did normal living thgs. like dancing naked in your room, or arguing w/your siblings, or breathing. It was just *too* big. I know the point of Versailles was to be a stage on which the French monarchy could display its wealth and potency, but I think it served/serves that purpose rather too well. When walking through the chamber in which les reines francaises birthed their royal progeny, all I could picture was Marie Antoinette in full court dress w/her ridiculous three ft. tall powdered hair towering above, sitting bolt upright in bed, legs wide open, skirts pulled up just enough to allow a newborn babe to pass through w/o suffocating on her layers of satin and lace, and looking slightly bored with the whole thg. B/C I think that's what life would be if it was that contrived. Boring.

Anyhow, fast-forwarding a few centuries back to the material point, Biltmore isn't like that. It is unquestionably impressive, but you can picture ppl. living there. You can imagine what it must have been like for little Cornelia Vanderbilt to tear ass through those long corridors, squealing and sliding on the hardwood floors, and jumping on the beds that look smaller than normal beds only b/c the rooms in which they sit are so large. You can look out of the windows and understand why a Yankee fr. NY would want to choose that spot in the backwoods mountains of NC as the place on which he built his escape fr. everythg. real. The toilets and bathrooms are featured prominently in the tour b/c they were cutting edge for the time (all indoor plumbing w/flush toilets), so you are left w/no uncertainties abt. whether or not ppl. digested at Biltmore b/c you even understand the exact flushing mechanism involved in removing the end product of that bodily process. Point is, while jaw-droppingly amazing in its scale and accoutrement, it doesn't alienate you. It doesn't make you hate it b/c it's so much more than you will ever be, it isn't completely incomprehensible, and it isn't tacky, an unfortunate pitfall for many large homes. It's just pretty. And gracious. And looking at the art in there (Geo. Vanderbilt collected pencil drawings, mostly portraits [my favorite], including several by Duhrer) made me cry for the first time since seeing the Sistine Chapel three yrs. ago. (Made me cry over art, I mean, not made me cry for the first time in three yrs., as well you all know -- haha...)

So, yeah. I loved it. Eli and I are going together at the end of the month.

I plan to add more to this entry, but Eli is increasingly jealous of the computer, so I will publish what I have to this point and try to pick it up tomorrow. But b/c it's me, I probably won't get around to it until Mon. or Wed. when I have a huge break in my school day and like to do thgs. like post on my blog rather than use my time efficiently by, oh, say, studying.

Quote of the Day:
"I think that plastic bottle in the gutter is a form of American art. Americans are the white trash of the world." -- Eli, pretty perceptive for someone whose only experience w/foreign travel involved an M-16 and and a flak jacket he had to wear in 120 degree heat.

Will write soon...

And when I do, you will have the following topics to look forward to:

-- My trip to Biltmore (I may even inc. pictures!)

-- Pancake Day/Mardi Gras memories
-- Why it is important to email or otherwise contact me at least once a month, OR, How I narrowly escaped an awkward conversation w/Ben's parents
-- An update on the infamous basket
--Some other stuff I meant to mention next time I wrote, but now cannot remember....hmmm...

You know you want it.

Quote of the Day:
"I'm not being vindictive, I'm just being fair... I'm not angry, I just don't want her to fucking have anythg." -- some twat across the cubicle fr. me, who seems to interpret 'fair' and 'not angry' the way Fox News interprets 'fair and unbiased'.

My VD passed without incident

heh. Volunteering yesterday was a ton of fun. Pervy medical types who uniformly dislike Valentine's Day. This could lead to only one thg.: LOTS of VD jokes. LOTS. My favorites included one fr. Sgt. H. in response to someone's saccharine greeting of (faux) holiday cheer: "Yeah, Happy VD to you, too -- hope you spread it!" and also my call of farewell to the staff as I left for the day, "Enjoy your VD, guys!" to which everyone responded, "Oh, we will!" heh. I'm sure this sort of banter really puts the patients at ease.

Yesterday was also notable b/c I got to do a lot of observation w/one of the drs. on staff. Dr. N is a nice guy, but I had never asked to shadow him before b/c he is rather reserved and stand-off-ish, and he seems exaggeratedly so in comparison to the rest of the staff b/c everyone else in that ER are freaking social dynamos. So point is, I had always been a little afraid of him (we fear that which is different!) and had never asked to shadow, but now I realize that was a HUGE waste of time b/c he was way more helpful and thorough than the other ppl. I've observed. Not only did I increase the quantity of ppl. I saw in one day, I also got a lot more out of it qualitativley, as he discussed ea. case w/me before we met w/the patient, offered his hypotheses, allowed me to watch during the exam, and then discussed what he gathered fr. the patient interview and how it helped change or shape his previous hypotheses. He even went over bloodwork and radiology results w/me. Gold Star for Dr. N!

On a completely unrelated note, I told Marion a story last night that she said I should really post on here b/c of its considerable comedic value. While I agree that the story is funny (I laugh every time I think of it), I'm not sure it's going to translate well to written form, but I'll give it a try. As many of you know, Eli has a long and varied history of buying me presents that are outrageously overpriced versions of smthg. that I said I would like. The two best examples of this are the $100 laptop bag he bought me for graduation fr. undergrad and the $900 digital camera/video recorder w/equipment he bought me for Christmas last yr.

Now, first and foremost, I must state for the record that I really appreciate that Eli put so much thought (and money) into my gifts and I have used them all. And when I laugh abt. these thgs. or otherwise poke fun, I am not meaning to be ungrateful. It's just that it tends to get a little ridiculous and I am usually left thinking, "For the money you spent on blah blah, I could have had a more affordable version of blah blah AND smthg. else," or, "...I could have had a more affordable version of blah blah so that when I inevitably fuck it up, it won't be a huge loss," OR, "...I could have had [insert other expensive present that I would have preferred] instead." Okay, yes, I'm an ungrateful bitch. Whatever. Read the following regarding this yr.'s bday present and you might be willing to cut me a little slack.

I knew in advance that Eli had spent a considerable amt. of money on my present (~$250 -- yeah, I don't think I'm worth it, either) and I knew that he had to order it fr. somewhere b/c they didn't sell them directly locally. So my curiosity was WAY piqued. The big day finally lumbers around, I get home fr. school that evening and Eli and Steve are both waiting for me in the LR b/c Steve thought it would be fun to hide my presents and watch me hunt. Which I did for a good 30 mins. After becoming increasingly annoyed after spending easily 10 mins. searching around the same place (b/c Eli and Steve told me I was REALLY close) that contained only a crystal ashtray Steve stole fr. one of Saddam's palaces and some car keys, I finally located the gift (after threatening to bean Steve w/the ashtray if he didn't give me better hints). It was hidden behind this jackass picture of Steve we have sitting on our mantle and it was....a flask engraved w/my name (he even remembered the all-important middle R!). I was pretty damn excited abt. this gift for many reasons, most notably that I finally had a way to discretely carry liquor at all times and also b/c it meant that Steve had -- for the first time ever -- paid attn. to smthg. I had said and then put real thought and effort into my gift.

You all know what happens when I get really excited (squealing, gushing, ecstatic cursing, jumping abt., etc.), so you can well-imagine the scene when I then turned to Eli and asked him abt. his gift. Tough act to follow, even if it was just a $25 flask. He smiles w/a look of restrained victory and says, "Your gift isn't here yet b/c I had to order it, but it's a..." [I am jumping fr. foot to foot w/anticipation] "...Longeberger* basket." I guess my big smile of slightly confused delight did not arrive fast enough for Eli to miss the preceding look of WTF? b/c he huffed in exasperation and exclaimed, "A Longeberger basket?! Oh, *my* God, it's like, a really nice basket! It appreciates in value! How can you not know what this is?!" Apparently, Eli had heard me mention that I wanted a knitting basket so that I could keep my considerable collection of knitting paraphernalia in some semblance of order. What I meant was "I want a big basket that retails for $50 tops to throw my shit in." What Eli heard (I guess) was "I want you to pay too much money for a basket no one has heard of so that I can try to be a neater wife for you."

I went fr. literally jumping up and down w/excitement after Steve's gift to cooing uncertainly, "Awwww...Thanks!(?)" while smiling w/more teeth than a rabid Rottweiler b/c I was trying so hard to look happy. You can see how this would be awkward. But terribly funny, though Eli did not so much appreciate the humor.

I say again, I *do* appreciate the gift. I know I will use it, it's probably an attractive piece (I still have not seen it), and it shows that Eli was listening to what I was saying, which is always appreciated. Again, you cannot fault Eli for thoughtfulness (though Steve has tried, saying that the real reason Eli bought me this gift is b/c he's so anal abt. neatness and this is one way to force me to be more compliant, not b/c he was thinking of my happiness) and I feel like a real shitbag for being anythg. other than unmitigatedly happy w/my gift.

But...

$250 for a freaking basket? I could have had a Roomba for $50 more and never have to vacuum again! And when I asked Eli (as kindly as possible) why he spent so much on a basket, he sputtered incredulously, "IT APPRECIATES IN VALUE!!" I'm sorry, dear, but the only way that basket is going to be worth more in 10 yrs. than it is right now is if I find a way to solve world hunger or win an Oscar and become an internationally known celebrity w/a cult of admirers willing to pay too much for my belongings. B/C otherwise I find it v. hard to believe that there are that many ppl. out there clamoring for a used basket made by a company that no one I have yet spoken to has heard of before. And that was Birt-day 2006.

I can write all of this b/c Eli never reads my blog. And even if he does, well...He's heard it all before already.


*You know what? I don't even know if that's spelled right. The basket in question still has not arrived and no one I have talked to has any clue what it is. Thus far, the only person aside fr. Eli who has ever heard of this company is his mom b/c she used to host Longeberger parties or smthg. Like Pampered Chef, but all abt. baskets. WTF? So I have the Pampered Chef of knitting baskets and I'm supposed to believe that this thg. is going to "appreciate in value"? riiiight.... I am so confused as to why such a company should even exist (other than to bilk well-meaning but misguided ppl. like Eli out of their money, of course) that I can't be bothered to find even the proper spelling of their name. Sheesh.

Little bit of nonsense

Regency

You love the idea of Kings and Queens, Dukes and

Countesses, but you also like the idea of the

beginnings of the creature comforts you love.

Carraiges and Balls are fabulous, but you

aren't exactly drawn to the Dark Ages. You'll

take just a little modernism, thank you!


Which Era Do You Belong In? (11 Results w Pictures)
brought to you by Quizilla

Wantonly stole this fr. Duncan's LiveJournal. Well, not so much stole as followed the link, took the quiz, and got the same results as him. Come join us in what is clearly the best era that ever was or will be -- assuming you are cool enough, of course.

Also, I realized that my last entry could be reduced down to the two words that constituted single-word paragraphs: Yeah. Whatever. Sorry abt. that. Will try to keep the life-hating to a minimum in the future.

School is the best.

Yeah.

I must have been crazy (more so than usual) when I thought this whole med school plan was feasible. I'm so tired of my classes I could cry (and occasionally do when I'm driving and no one is w/me and there isn't much traffic) and we're only a third of the way through the semester. Plus I'm sucking it like a Hoover these days (in a dismally non-sexual way), so that's not really helping. I walked into my Physics class today just as our prof was delivering a rant abt. how bad our first test grades were (I made a 42 -- seriously), which he rounded out with, "Nobody actually performed satisfactorily well," a comment as awkwardly formal in its phrasing as I felt sitting bolt upright in my seat, ankles crossed primly, determinedly studying a corner of the chalkboard just above Dr. A's eyeline. Oh, and naturally he did not curve the test since we get to drop our lowest grade and he has already determined that *this* will be everyone's drop grade, so there is no need for further assistance. I guess the fact that EVERYONE FAILED did not elicit as sympathetic a response as one would believe, or even the fleeting thought that perhaps the test was too fucking long/hard/generally crap and that he should re-evaluate the grades.

Whatever.

Get ready, everyone, b/c the moment I have been portending for yrs. (my abject failure) is now imminent, a claim likely to receive further substantiation either later this afternoon or on Wed. when I get my Physiology test back. It, like the Physics test, was poo, which I found more than usually disappointing, as I really enjoy this class, I put a lot of effort into it, and I seem to be doing less well than when I put no effort into it and spend my time thinking abt. how much I hate [insert boring subject matter here]. Like Organic. Fucking hate it. A lot. Studied nominally for the first test, just enough to make sure I knew enough to differentiate a methyl fr. a hole in the ground, and I got a 93. A 93. WTF? I should interject here that I do not actually expect my performance in Organic to continue in this manner, but a 93 ain't a bad start to a subject I fully anticipated getting through just by the seat of my pants (or trousers, for you naughty-minded Brits [ahem, Ben]). I've heard it said that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it works the other way: when you hate smthg. enough you spend a lot of time and energy trying to figure out ways around it or to fuck w/it or to get one over on it, so that you end up unwittingly understanding it better than thgs. you enjoy and which therefore require less effort.

Quote of the Day:
"I'm trying to make this as exciting as I can, but I don't have much to work with." -- Dr. W, on the wonderful world of Organic Chem

On a cheerier note, Christy and Jennifer came down to Buttown on Sat. to help me celebrate my birt-day properly and succeeded marvelously! Eli and Steve chaperoned, and since the latter usually needs his own chaperone, I expected him to be rather less effective at defending our honour than Eli, but he was on reasonably good behavior for most of the evening. We had a yummy fatty dinner, went to a piano bar, got kicked off the stage at the piano bar (twice, I think), went to some club where the groping was more frequent than I would prefer, but I was tipsy and more than usually comfortable w/decisive swatting and laughing dismissively at offendors (most of whom appeared to be abt. 12 anyhow), so it was fine, and had a few drinks in between. AND, I got everyone to dance w/me at least once, even those who had previously adamantly refused to do so. Proof positive that alcohol and a reasonably attractive person can get ppl. to do just abt. anythg. On the whole, I think a good time was had by all. The next morning Eli continued his bid for Best Husband Ever by making everyone waffles and eggs -- awww! Unfortunately, some of the pics fr. that night contribute to a growing number of photographs I like to refer to as Good-Thg-I'm-Not-Planning-To-Run-For-Office-Anymore. I really need to ban cameras fr. all situations in which I could be intoxicated b/c even when I'm not being naughty, it sure as hell looks like I am. Plus I usually am being naughty, so, really, cameras are fr. this point forward not allowed.

Eli left this morning for two wks. in Alaska, which is sort of a bummer, though I would be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to get out of spending two wks. indoors w/his family -- haha! But since I will have two wks. on my own, I am faced w/a dilemma: I'm really torn b/t either surprising him when he gets home by having our room all clean and neat (which you should all know is quite difficult for me) or getting back at him for his incessant nagging and anality by completely decimating it while he's away. Truly, an epic battle b/t good and evil, no? heh heh heh....

"And I'm not happy And I'm not sad..."

Tonight was fun. Certainly more fun than could have been predicted fr. the middle part of my day, which was sandwiched like a faintly rancid piece of meat between more delectable events, namely a slightly dysfunctional (technically), but still amusing chat w/Brianna and Daniel online at the beginning of my day and a fun-filled evening of drinks and a movie w/my friend Tess. Tess, although in the military and stationed in this shithole, is one of the most animated, fun, beautiful, funny ppl. I have met. We were supposed to go see a movie and then meet up w/our hubbies and some friends, but we missed the early showing and 'had' to go get drinks for a couple of hrs. while we lated for the later showing instead. So I ended up laughing a lot, seeing a surprisingly awesome movie ("Something Different"), and enjoying conversation that couldn't be reduced to boobs, butts, and she's-hot-except-for-.....-but-I-would/would-not-do-her. The latter was esp. enjoyable b/c it was a much-needed change fr. my social life of the past four wks. or so. I think everyone in my acquaintance can attest to the fact that I can talk at great length abt. boobs, butts, and whomwouldyoudo, but there comes a time where even I would prefer to talk abt. the latest developments in pig farming than abt. one more person's 'rack'. So, yeah, the sheer variety of tonight's conversation left me somewhat euphoric and provided a far better buzz than the weak-ass drinks at Ruby Tuesday's. (Fucking hate that place.)

Now, let's talk abt. how I am the world's worst chem lab student. Really. If there was a prize for this, I would win every time, hands down. Most of you have already heard abt. the unfortunate water-up-the-gas-hose incident fr. Chem I, then there was my consistently mediocre performance in Chem II lab, and it seems that Organic lab is going to be more of the same, but with the possible addition of a chemical burn and/or small explosion. Take, for example, this past wk.'s lab. Thgs. started out well enough (uh, I was on time for once), but rapidly began the downhill tumble to Shittown. I'll spare you the details, but highlights included:
- Me spilling hydrochloric acid on the floor. Don't worry, though -- my foot blocked most of it.
- Our solute would not dissolve after 15 solid mins. of stirring and when we followed our TA's advice and attempted to begin the flitration, the solid chunks blocked our filter and we had to drain the liquid, unclog the funnel filter, and attempt to perform the experiment w/our significantly weakened solution.
- Naturally, this led to our experiment not working properly, which led to our professor coming over to see how we had fucked up the first (and therefore easiest) real lab of the semester. After asking a few questions and shaking her head, she just said to me, "Well, you're doing a great job of stirring that."
- Katie and I ended up taking longer than every other grp. in the class save one, which would be just plain annoying under normal circumstances, but because we were using ether for this experiment, my prolonged time in the lab combined with my quick, shallow breaths of frustration to produce a hellacious headache and a more than usually severe feeling of disorientation. I then got in my car, drove the 50 mi. back to my town, and spent the next 4 hrs. in the ER for my volunteering shift. Luckily, there is little traffic on the roads I use and by the time I had to start an IV, I had more or less recovered.
- As we were leaving the lab, I tried to make amends w/our TA for being such a pain in the ass and I jokingly said, "Sorry we suck!" expecting her to laugh and say smthg. like, "Oh, no, no..." or smthg. similary reassuring. Instead, she said, "It's okay," and sighed. HA!

All I can say is, I'm really glad Katie was my lab partner last semester, too, b/c she knows I'm terrible at this and has learned to laugh. Plus, she's not v. good, either, so we get to take turns being the jackass.

Off to bed for me. I have a big day of cleaning to look forward to b/c I need to get this place in shape for Christy and Jennifer's impending visit (YAY!!!) and also b/c if Eli nags me one more bob-damned time abt. it, I'm going to have to flee the country to avoid being arrested for murder. I am hoping to travel more, but I would rather not have to do so under an assumed identity. Unless, of course, that identity is wealthy and attractive, in which case Eli better watch his back.

NEWSFLASH!: Fake rocks aren't just for hiding spare keys anymore!

Or at least such is the claim Russia is attempting to make against British diplomats. I'm sure you've all heard or will shortly hear abt. this story, but I felt compelled to take a moment to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the whole thg. Highlights fr. the Washington Post article I read included:

'Documents featured on the program appeared to show that the British planned to fund a school to train public inspectors in remote areas. "We can only guess at who these inspectors were and what they were going to see in northern Siberia and the Far East," said an unnamed FSB officer...' Wow, yeah. Job training in a tundric shithole like Siberia is WAY subversive. Thank God the FSB was on alert for these thgs. With cunning intelligence like this, I just can't believe the USSR lost the Cold War!

'"We have a kind of gentlemen's understanding that official intelligence representatives won't engage in espionage," said Ignatchenko, referring to the head of the British intelligence service MI6 in Moscow, one of whose aides allegedly was filmed at the park. "The agreement seems to have been breached. In fact, we have been deceived."' hmmm... So the ppl. working in *intelligence* [allegedly] engaged in *espionage* and that is shocking? Maybe smthg. got lost in translation and the Russians thought intelligence meant intelligentsia. They're probably still waiting for pasty waifs to show up at their coffee shops, throwing around Western money and moaning abt. the meaning of being.

And my personal favorite: '"At first we thought this was a normal, typical secret drop-off point camouflaged under a stone," an FSB officer told state-run Rossiya television. "However, later when our specialists carried out their investigation, it became clear that the stone contained an electronic device. This was absolutely new spy technology."' Uh-huh. You know, I understand that by the end of the Cold War Russia was pretty behind in terms of world trends and technological development, but calling a fake rock 'absolutely new spy technology'? Really? *Really??* I think I saw a cave painting abt. that in Lascaux. Yeah, you know, the one where the Cro-Magnons destroyed the Neanderthals by using fake rocks to store their weapons in preparation for an ambush. And 'normal, typical secret drop-off point...under a stone' that apparently everyone knows abt., making it rather less than secret in my estimation?? hahaha... It's like Spy vs. Spy, but less sophisticated.

Even if Britain *was* spying on Russia via a fake rock, Russian intell has so successfully managed to come off as sputtering beefcake peabrains that Britain won't even need to try to cover it up. No one reading a statement involving such pitiful remonstrances and unlikely evidential offerings is going to bother w/being outraged b/c they'll be too busy pointing and laughing. I bet even Russians are laughing. Secretly, of course, in their hovel-like flats, still slightly worried that their neighbor is in the KGB and is waiting for an excuse to turn them in so he/she can move in to the apt. w/a view, but laughing nonetheless.

Don't Panic

Turns out my half-serious concern abt. this being the beginning of the end of days was unfounded, as Steve authoritatively informed me the other day that we will not see the end of the world in our lifetime. Whew. Glad he told me that before I confessed my sins and went out to stockpile water, TP, and peanut butter (I think one would need a lot of protein to face apocalypse). Wanna know smthg. really sad? My mom actually did all of that before New Year's Eve 2000 b/c she totally bought into the Y2K bullshit. Not kidding. Every time she came back fr. the store for the last six mos. of 1999 she had gallons of water and canned goods which she stored in this POS shed in our backyard that didn't even adequately protect the boxes and extra furniture we put out there (most of them became mold-ridden or created housing for small mammals and insects), but that my mom felt would be the better shelter option than our brick, solidly-constructed house. Or maybe that was the backup shelter in case smthg. (??) happened to the house. I don't really remember. I was too busy trying not to laugh every time she explained the "emergency plan" to pay attn. I don't think she bought much peanut butter, though, so my plan is already better than hers (haha). When I think abt. my mom doing thgs. like Y2K preparation and my maternal grandmother doing thgs. like hanging all of her coats in the hall closet in a specific order and manner, I say a quick prayer that my dad's genes will be strong enough to fight off what is clearly a genetic tendency toward insanity. Of course, Vern's not totally w/it, either, but that side of the family just has a tendency toward depression and alcoholism, as opposed to the slightly paranoid, OCD-like behavioral oddities of my mom's family.

And now you need never ask again why I do not wish to have children. It's in their best interests, I hope you see. haha...

Eli's first wk. home has been quite nice. Steve has been reasonably well-behaved, Eli hasn't spent an excessive amt. of time watching movies in our room (he's been in the living room instead), and I managed to be reasonably productive despite the many distractions and a mid-week dinner party/drunkfest that left me wondering how I got that drunk that fast on a Tues. evening. Yeah. I didn't do stuff like that in undergrad, I don't know why I did it this wk. as a responsible, mature, post-bac student (hahahaha). Although, in my defense, I must say that I had not intended to get drunk that night. I kept drinking b/c I didn't feel that drunk (obviously a miscalculation on my part), and I was quite surprised when the shots, beers, wine, and margaritas finally hit me and I realized I was totally obliterated. I had told everyone at the beginning of the evening that I had to go work on Physics at 8 and at 830 I stumbled back to my room w/every intention of doing so. At 9 I gave up and went to sleep. I woke up at 530am w/just my shirt on, reached for my alarm (which had not been set, of course), replied to Eli's mumbled query of, "You're not really going to class in the morning, are you?" w/a slight affirmative whine, and went back to sleep. Not only did I go to class in the morning, I was on time for the first time this semester. Apparently drunkenness improves my punctuality. I also nearly passed out fr. vertigo the first time I shifted my head fr. looking at the chalkboard to looking at my notes to looking at the chalkboard, but I overcame. What an Idiot.

There's some other stuff I could talk abt. (like the soldier who came into the ER the other day w/a foreign object lodged up...well, you get it -- he should have driven to Savannah rather than come to the military hospital where everythg. that happens to soldiers must be reported to their company commanders, poor fella's not going to last a wk. when that gets out), but Eli and Steve should be home soon and I suppose I should make it look as if I've done a little more in the last hr. than sit in my bathrobe eating Cheerios. In actuality, I will probably continue to sit in my bathrobe pretending to be working on my Physics lab report while doing little beyond staring at the computer disinterestedly. But that's basically how I made it through grad school, so perhaps smthg. will come of it in the end.

Oh, also, check out this news article that Christy's med school friend had on his blog. It fully illustrates why democracy is not a good idea. http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060113/od_nm/vampire_dc

I.V, anyone?

B/C I could do that for you. Yes, that's right, today I did smthg. actually related to medicine. Or at least to bodily fluids used in medicine. I learned how to start an I.V! After impressing the ranking medic on duty w/my ability to pierce and properly catheterize plastic tubing, he called over the lesser medic on duty (a lovely PVT who apparently doubles as the ER pin cushion when ppl. want to practice their I.V. skillz) and handed me the needle. It wasn't perfect (I would probably have killed someone if they were as slow as I was), but I didn't go through the vein, it was a good catch and no one passed out, so all in all, better than I had expected! Perhaps by the time I lv. in May I'll be confident enough to do it w/o apologizing profusely before, during, and after. I don't think that sort of blubbering instills much confidence in patients.

So my second day of volunteering was far more interesting/rewarding than the first day, during which I spent two hrs. answering the phone/doing work meant for a trained rat and three hrs. listening to the chief of emergency medicine in the ER talk abt....Well, I don't rightly remember what we talked abt. for three hrs., but we did. Actually, it was a lot of him talking and me nodding, or him debating w/some other M.D. abt. kidney stones, first-trimester spotting, and whether or not you need to order labs to confirm a diagnosis. Which I guess was pretty cool, but it basically did nothg. for me b/c he's lvng. soon to go to Iraq, which means he can't be my "mentor" or "person who gets me into med school b/c he knows someone [which he does]". Anyhow, b/t the sticking of ppl. and the dirty jokes w/the staff and hearing of stories some of the nurses had abt. their experiences in Iraq (wow.), today was a really good day. OH! And if Steve and The Rock had a baby, it would totally be this P.A. that works in the ER. He looks sort of like Steve in the face, but he may be the biggest man I have ever seen in person. Fucking H U G E , I tell you. And hot. But I always did think The Rock was hot (shut it, you).

Quote of the Day:

"Aw, man...Y'all could do that [a CT scan for a patient w/back spasms]. It ain't hard. You just push the button and get this look on your face [imagine professional, pensive gaze] so they think you know what you're doing, and occasionally look at them and look at the monitor. I'm tellin' ya, I'm thinking of going out and training some squirrels to take over for me." -- the Radiology Tech, after we told him he couldn't go to lunch yet b/c we needed a scan.

Also, in an effort to improve my "upbeat writing skills", I thought I would report that I had a little bull session w/myself the other day and managed to accomplish a good bit of mental-emotional housecleaning. Feeling much better. But I do still miss you all tons. In fact, I determined that that was the root cause of much of my distress -- I've felt rather isolated and unstimulated and that isn't likely to change significantly until I get the hell out of this town. Though Steve does have several new friends who are interesting, intelligent, and generally more quality than his usual riff-raff (haha -- Steve's reading this as I write it and is abt. to punch me in the throat), which allows me some hope for the near future. Seriously, I do like his friends and hanging out w/them should be far better than hanging out w/the cats. I was getting way too close to crazy cat lady status. Steve has enlisted his friends for knitting, tea, and Desperate Housewives, which should be amusing even if it happens only once. But I do miss you all so v. much and I daily wish I could make dinner for Stuart, Ben, and Jon w/Marion, have tea and knitting w/Clare, talk shit abt. everyone w/Daniel in a surprisingly sophisticated way (it's got to be that vocabulary of his), laugh hysterically w/Brianna (and gelatin-free cheesecake!), go for rambling walks w/Eamonn, Duncan, and Olley, or run around Charleston w/my fellow Foxy Fivers. And of course there are innumerable other memories/thgs. I miss abt. all of you and those I did not mention by name, but suffice it to say that I love you all more than ever and I can never say how happy I am to have you in my life. Thanks for everythg., dears.

OH!! And I'm such a jackass.... ELI GETS HOME TOMORROW!! I swear the fact that I didn't mention this sooner does not reflect a lack of excitement on my part, though perhaps it does denote a slight disbelief/reluctance to get overly excited *just*in*case* smthg. goes wrong and he doesn't come home tomorrow b/c we all know how these thgs. go... Esp. for me. heh.

I'm not saying it's the end of the world...

...But it is.

Haha... No, I'm not so batty as that just yet. But, seriously, there is smthg. weird going on w/natural phenomena these days. More than usual, I mean. For example, in my little region alone, we have recently had hellacious thunderstorms, at least two of which spawned tornadoes in neighboring counties, and there is/was a new tropical storm meandering abt. the Atlantic a full month after hurricane season ended (which possibly lends credence to the growing suspicion that smthg. is amiss w/the Gulf Stream). We almost never get tornadoes (or thunderstorms, for that matter) this time of yr. b/c usually by now winter has come even to my balmy, mild habitat, which creates conditions not conducive to tornado formation, since they depend on a sudden interaction of v. warm and v. cold air. As we all learned in pre-school, with the assistance of tissue-paper snowflakes and cotton ball snow, winter is a "cold" season, cold on the ground and in the air above. But this winter we have had almost no truly cold days. The high for the next three days is 72 degrees. Seventy-f-ing-two in *January*. What is that? And GA/the Lowcountry of the Southeast region isn't the only anomaly, either. I didn't use my coat once the whole time I was in VA for Christmas, which, in my 23 yrs. of experience w/mid-Atlantic weather, has never before happened. [Perhaps Daniel would like to comment on this, as he is in MD, which is more firmly in the mid-Atlantic region than VA, and so he would have a more informed opinion this yr. than myself, since I decided to pretend I was raised by wolves and did not see any of my actual family members over the holiday.] Also, Eli's family lives north of Anchorage, AK, and reported having absolutely no snow at Christmas. Not an inch. That miserable bitch of a state is usually five ft. under by now and should remain so for another four mos. When you add this to all of the earthquakes and mudslides in recent wks. around the world and the polar bears freaking out and the increasing likelihood that w/the ascension of an(other) uber-conservative to the Supreme Court the US will regress abt. 3000 yrs. in matters legislative, judicial, personal, and environmental... Well, let's just say that if the four horsemen show up next wk., I won't be overly surprised. I might even make them some tea. B/C I'm gonna need to know someone to get out of all of that Purgatory I've accrued.

Seen and heard:
The Washington Post yesterday ran a mildly informative article abt. the growing # of evangelical Christians who have a real affinity for Judaism. I've known several such ppl. and I've gotta say that they're even nuttier than your average evangelical, but hopefully that's true only of my completely unscientific sample. Anyhow, the introductory paragraph of this article was: "Everyone who worships at the Tabernacle quickly learns three facts about its deeply conservative pastor. He comes from a broken home. He rides a canary-yellow Harley. And he loves the Jews." The Jews. I thought it was rather questionable to use a phrase like "the Jews" in a newspaper not officially connected to neo-Nazis or the KKK, so I read this to Steve to see if it was just me being frighteningly, uncharacteristically over-P.C. and his response was, "Haha... Yeah, just like Steve loves the [insert plural of N-word here]." riiight... But at least I know it wasn't just me who perceived this potential faux-pas.

Steve called me a tree-hugger b/c I've been recycling, using my "green bag" that Jill brought me fr. Australia, and I don't shop at Wal-Mart. WTF?

I called my brother today during my *four*hr.*break* b/t classes and left the following msg.:
"Hey, spunk-monkey. I just thought I would see what's up w/you b/c I have a lot of time before my next class and I thought I would kill you."
Naturally I meant "*call* you," but it probably does not bode well that I have been in school again for a grand total of two hrs. and already the brain has decayed to such a deplorable state.

In response to Steve's oddly outraged/distraught query of why I would be okay w/contracting a deadly strain of bird flu (of which he had not heard before), I said, "I'm just kinda tired." I need smthg. better than that, I think.

The Question of the Day on one of the rap stations here was, "Grillz: Turn-On or Turn-Off?" While this would have been funny enough on its own, the humor caliber was augmented by someone who called in, (erroneously) declared grillz to be hot, and then said, "Yeah, I got me a nice one, but it ain't permanent cuz I got to go to work and dey won't lemme wear my grill." BWAH HA!

On a tenuously related note, I was yet again reminded abt. how old I am when a 14 y.0. called the rap station for "Tootsie Roll", which seemed totally normal b/c when I was 14 just three seconds ago, "Tootsie Roll" was my jam! And then the DJ said, "Oh, you wanna take it back, do ya? How you even know abt. da 'Tootsie Roll' when you only 14?!" And I thought, "What does he mean, 'take it back?' That song's not that...Holy shit, it's been almost 10 yrs. since I was 14!!!!" And then I proceeded to dance while driving for the next 3.5 mins. b/c how can you not break it down for da Tootsie Roll?

The ugliest, loudest, least helpful librarian in the world just shuffled over to some poor unfortunate soul in need of assistance w/Lexis-Nexis. She is now making almost as much noise as the idiot across fr. me who is apparently downloading new ringtones for his phone, but has not yet mastered the volume key, resulting in periodic bursts of ear-shattering rap and hip-hop and reminding me of just how fab-o GA Southern is. wee-haw.


One more anecdote before I run along to Comparative Physiology and release you all fr. my rambling thrall. A few mos. ago, I was looking for a new leave-in conditioner, the spray-in kind, not the creme kind. After several trips to several stores yielded nothg. but irritation, I found the perfect solution during a fortuitous visit to Target -- a large bottle of spray-in conditioner that smelled rather nice and was not tested on animals AND was on sale. Score! I looked at the brand (Soft and Lovely) and thought vaguely, "I think that's a black company," but it didn't say anythg. abt. that and the only picture was of a hazelnut or smthg. and then I read the bit abt. how it wasn't tested on animals and I was like, "Well, maybe not. And who cares anyhow, I'm buying it." So I check out, notice a slight look of surprise on the (black) cashier's face, chalk it up to oversensitivity on my part, and go home to try out my new product. It works beautifully. My hair has been shinier and more manageable than I ever remember, which may also be due to the fact that I now have the best hair-stylist ever, but I'm pretty sure the Soft and Lovely leave-in is playing a role, too. Fast forward to a couple of wks. ago. I'm wandering around Big!Lots, collecting various items I don't really need, but that are too cheap/interesting/weird to pass up when I come across a bottle of my Soft and Lovely spray-on, leave-in conditioner. Except this bottle has a black woman on it where mine has some sort of nut. And the directions mention smthg. abt. spraying it on your corn-rows to keep them properly moisturized. So it is now confirmed that I purchased and have happily been using a product intended for corn rows. This, inappropriately, made me laugh really hard b/c the mental image of me gaily spraying down my corn rows wouldn't go away.

And Now, the Moment You Have All (vaguely, half-heartedly, after running out of other thgs. to do) Been Waiting For....

...my triumphant return. Which is in actuality more like a rather depressed, haunted-by-dread-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach-at-the-prospect-of-school-starting-again, trudge back to reality. Or semi-reality, at least, b/c I do still have a few more days of freedom. Seriously, I'm not sure I have ever been so unenthusiastic abt. learning. This is what science does to you, folks -- it makes you hate smthg. you thought you loved. Like learning. Or french fries (and fattening foods generally). Or motion. Well, it explains in graphic, irrefutable, excruciating detail why you should hate thgs. you thought you loved. I just keep telling myself that this will all be worth it...in 10 yrs. when I finally graduate fr. med/grad school. Funny how that doesn't imbue me w/a warm, fuzzy feeling of validation.

On a positive note, Steve is home and it has thus far been quite pleasant. Of course, it's been only 36 hrs. and Eli isn't home yet, so the fur isn't flying, but I prefer to focus on the good and steadfastly ignore the potential bad and continue thinking this will go on forever. Perhaps part of why I am more apt to do this than I would normally be is that Steve has a new friend who, although female, is wonderfully intelligent and funny and not painful to be around! I like this person (Michelle) so much that I have attempted to foster in Steve a more-than-friendly interest in her, but to no avail (for the moment). I have high hopes, though. Which probably adds to the mounting evidence that I am losing contact w/reality. But let me have for the next two days at least, as all fun will cease to exist for me at 7am on Mon.

You know, going back to "life" might not seem so bad had I not had an absolutely fucking fantastic holiday, for which I am indescribably grateful. But me gushing abt. how fab-o my life is doesn't make for v. interesting reading, since I have yet to master the upbeat humorous writing, favoring instead sarcasm and sharp wit. I'll work on that. But I did have a great holiday and I am v. sad to see it ending, though I smile every time I think on it.


I apologize in advance if I suddenly become the loudest person on the bitter bus, but next wk. is going to be a real shock to my system, physically and emotionally, as it will signal the end of daily alcohol consumption, copious amts. of sleep, and happiness generally. A big thank you to those who left comments and signed the guest book...made me laugh and love you all more.




Also, I miss you all more than usual. I think we should all buy a big house somewhere and live together forever. Sure, half of you don't know ea. other, but you know me and have not-unfriendly feelings toward me, so what else do you need, really?

One more thg.

I will be going to Charleston for a few days, so I may or may not update for a wk. or so. Which means you all will have plenty of time to lv. comments and sign the guestbook. haha... No, really, I was just letting y'all know b/c this past wk. while I was in VA, I rcvd. a phone call fr. a long-time reader, first time (in months) caller telling me I needed to update my blog. Well, not all of us have jobs that interfere w/vacation time and provide lots of boredom and Internet access. I do hope you will power through my brief absence as best you can. My entries have become almost numerous at this point, so if you ration yourself, you should be able to make it through just fine. (haha)

And if anyone wants to fly into Charleston to enjoy our weather in the mid-70s (that's upper teens, low 20s for you metric folk) and stay at my pseudo-family's house at the beach, pls. do so. Perhaps those currently living in a sub-arctic island nation who have their eye on a certain hot friend of mine? I'm just sayin'...She'll be at my party. And we're supposed to go for tea. So, ya know...

My blog's equivalent of the "Come to Jesus" talk

Do y'all know what that is? No, I am not proselytizing, although the origins of the phrase (obviously) come from such a mission. Like when you go to a tent revival (I really hope you know what that is -- see Mark Twain if not, you illiterate bastards) and the preacher gets everyone all worked up abt. how sinful the world is and how sinful we all are and how the only way to escape an eternity of hellfire and damnation is to Come to Jesus. This generally involves some sort of monetary donation, as well as a good bit of hand waving, ecstatic (but not pervy) moaning, and a general praisin' of tha Lawd.

Now, I am not asking for your money (today), but I am asking you to go beyond merely reading the blog and to start making it interactive. Leave some bob-damned comments, ppl (please). Sign my guestbook (you can have fun picking your flag!). And I'm not saying the consequences of disobedience will be eternal hellfire and damnation, but I am a creative girl. I'll come up w/smthg. It may even be better than that old song and dance.

So Come to Jules. Show off your wit and wealth of esoterica by lvng. a little comment once in a while. I know you're reading. You all like to tell me that you're reading, or that that one story abt. how I made an ass of myself was funny, or that reading my blog saves you the guilt of not responding to an email (ahem, Benjamin), but ya know what? Everyone thinks I'm making that up b/c the only ppl. lvng. comments are Daniel, Mar, and, um, myself. So help me prove that I do know more than three ppl. including myself and reassure me that I am not in the beginning stages of crazy, lonely cat lady (it's too soon!) and lv. some love. Hand waving, moaning, and Lawd-praising optional, donations appreciated.

And for the record, a tent revival came a few yrs. ago to the nutcracker of a town I am currently living in and although I DID NOT go, I was sorely tempted. Not b/c I feel the need to Come to Jesus, but just b/c that would have been one hell of a show.

A contagion of stupidity

The other night I decided that I had spent far too much time stuffing my face and sitting on my ass (no, I was not worried that I might be getting "fat", I was simply concerned that my lungs would no longer be able to process fresh air and that my heart would seize up the next time I walked the 10 ft. to my mailbox if preventive measures were not taken), so I went for a run. The suburban South has a long history of anitpathy toward sidewalks. Perhaps this is b/c the South is still somewhat put out that it had to give up its plantations and slave labor in favor of carpetbagging yuppies and paid Mexican workers and so it attempts to cling to its not-so-distant rural past by forcing everyone on foot to trudge down poorly-maintained thoroughfares, dodging erratic traffic all the way.

At any rate, when my grandmother came to visit my mom, my brother, and me after my mom bought our first house in the more upscale town close to the shithole I currently call my mailing address, she was thrilled that my mom had managed to beat the family predictions of failure and do smthg. pretty well on her own despite that whole pregnant-at-18 thg. Nan was, however, quite dismayed at the lack of sidewalks, exclaiming, "But, Kim, where are the children supposed to walk?!" heh. I managed the hazards of suburban street recreation until I was 12 and moved to MD, where even my ghetto-ass neighborhood had sidewalks, or concrete pussy paths, as I like to call them.

But now I'm back in the almost-boondocks of GA, so naturally there are no sidewalks. Of course, in this town, there's not a whole lot of need for them since everyone is too fat and lazy to actually get out of their La-Z-Boy (R) and walk anywhere, so you can almost understand this particular oversight in city planning. Anyhow, when I go running here, I obviously have to run in the street due to the lack of sidewalks, combined w/a population that interprets its private property rights strictly and its right to bear arms freely. The other night I decided to vary my usual route and jogged through parts of my neighborhood I had not yet explored. At one point, I came to a road that is somewhat busier than the rest of the neighborhood and became quite anxious after having to dodge numerous cars who had no compunction abt. grazing me w/their side mirrors. I was already running in the bob-damned gutter, what the hell else did they want fr. me?! It was then that I happened to look at the other side of the street and was shocked to see...a sidewalk. An honest-to-God sidewalk. So I scurried across the road as quickly as I could and enjoyed approximately 50 ft. of road safety before it abruptly ended and I was once again left w/o an appropriate path. But I realized that b/c I have become so accustomed to dumb shit like no sidewalks, I don't even notice and utilize thgs. that are actually smart and make sense. A litte unsettling, really.

And I'm telling you all right now, I don't want any snide comments fr. ppl. above VA and west of the Mississippi relating this to the South and any stereotypes you might choose to employ (you know who you are). I'm allowed to talk smack b/c I'm fr. the South and I love it, flaws and all. The rest of you will be vaporized by my look of death I will telepathically send your way if you attempt to follow suit. Comments impugning my intelligence are perfectly acceptable and probably warranted, given the nature of most of my posts.

Moving on to smthg. else of a slightly stupid nature, Steve comes home in a few days. This is a relief b/c I do love Steve (in much the same way as I love the South) and it will be a relief to have him out of Iraq, but already trouble is brewing on the horizon and he isn't even in the country yet. In addition to the usual ho-related nonsense, there is also a blossoming drama relating to Steve wanting Eli to allow a (mercifully male) friend of his to live in our house for a few mos. until he gets out of the Army and goes home. Please bear in mind that while our new house is larger than their previous residences, it is by no means large and we are already going to have four ppl. living in three bedrooms and 1500 square ft. Maybe it's the Mexican in him, or maybe it's just that he's insane, but Steve thinks it would be a good idea to add another person to this, plus whatever floozy he has sleeping w/him any given night of the wk. It's really not the best idea, but usually what would happen is Eli would say no, Steve would plead and pester for a few days, Eli would say no, Steve would persist, and eventually Eli would say yes, now shut the fuck up, which is fine w/Steve, since it means he gets his way.

This time, however, it is really not a good idea for Steve to attempt that tried and true method. B/C this time Eli is in the midst of a serious (and not totally unreasonable) freak out and would probably like to knife someone as a cathartic release. And that person will be Steve if he continues to push Eli abt. this. I told Steve that he really needed to take up the issue w/Eli himself (rather than trying to go through me), but I had a brief, vague conversation w/Eli abt. Steve's request that went smthg. like this:

Eli: So what does Steve want to talk to me abt.?

Jules: He has a favor to ask you and I told him that he would probably have more luck discussing it w/you himself than having me do it b/c you're not esp. happy w/me these days.

Eli: Well, the only favor Steve ever wants fr. me is to ask for money.

Jules: Nah, despite spending a small fortune on Christmas presents for himself, I think Steve has ample funds. This is smthg. else that he put forward once before.

Eli: HE WANTS A FUCKING OTHER ROOMMATE, DOESN'T HE??

Jules: ....Uh, yeah.

Eli: No. [slight incredulous sputtering] No.

This is going to end one of two ways: Either Steve will nag Eli until he gives in and/or he'll pull a fast one and have Joe move in before Eli gets home, in which case I will be sharing a rather small house w/four other ppl., one of whom is a complete stranger, *and* Eli will use this event to stoke his barely-contained, simmering-just-under-the-surface rage and will probably die of a stroke and/or snap someone's neck. Alternatively, Eli will remain steadfast in his refusal and Steve will pout, rant, extort, and complain incessantly, until I snap someone's neck. In any event, someone is likely going to be dead in the next six mos. and I'm sort of hoping it will be me. (Not really -- calm down.)

Anyone want to come visit? Also, a betting pool is completely appropriate in this case. Just remember, I get 10% of the winner's earnings for pain and suffering.

If I don't eat again soon, I might actually remember what it feels like to be hungry.

Which would be quite a change fr. the last few days. So Much Food. And at least as much alcohol. My body seems to be adjusting to this pattern of behavior disconcertingly well. Perhaps I really was meant to be a permadrunk socialite. heh.

Anyhow, am enjoying a v. merry holiday season away fr. my family, which probably explains why I'm having such a good time. I felt a couple twinges of guilt yesterday and the day before, but I worked through it and am now firmly relieved. Highlights have included nearly being kicked out church due to the incorrigible Dougie (Anne's oft-drunk socialite aunt), waking up fr. my post-Christmas bkfst. nap to find Grandaddy Frank moving in for the wakeup kiss (really not as creepy as it sounds), and managing to consume two glasses of the Myers family eggnog (apparently they don't want you to be able to remember Christmas -- haha!). Will write more when I get back to Ft. Stewpid on the 27th, but must now run along for Day After Christmas breakfast and Bloody Mary. Oh, yes, the fun just keeps coming. mmmm....

Please note...

...two new improvements, er, changes to the blog:

1) I finally corrected the paragraph spacing problem, which will, in theory, assist in making the blog more reader-friendly. Or that is the hope anyhow.

2) There is now a guestbook just below the link to my wholly uninformative and useless profile. Give it some love and sign in.

That is all.

Observe, the cosmic tendency toward balance.

Supposedly our universe is progressing toward ever-increasing chaos. Well, that may be true for the physical macrocosm (I actually don't have a firm enough grasp on physics [or any other scientific discipline for that matter] to argue that point, so I'll just let it go), but in the realm of thgs. more ethereal, I think the evidence clearly indicates a trend toward equilibrium. This would fall in line w/a basic spiritual application of Newton's third law of motion: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. To illustrate this hypothesis, let's examine the last few wks. of my life, starting w/my fantastic trip to Scotland. As chronicled in the entry relating to that wk., thgs. were overwhelmingly fabulous for that period of time. (Though if I felt like spending more time boring you to death belaboring my point, I could highlight the various moments *w/in* that generally good wk. that further demonstrate my point abt. how nothg. good or bad can happen w/o the opposite occurring as well. I'll lv. that to you, my clever friends, in case you get stuck in traffic or a similarly dull situation and need smthg. to mull over to fill time. [haha]) This utterly amazing wk. abroad was quickly followed by a miserable wk. of make-up tests, finals, and three ulcer-inducing days of worrying abt. whether or not my new career plan had been totally destroyed. This, in turn, was followed by the euphoria of discovering all was NOT lost (quite the opposite, really) and remembering that I had a whole bottle of Grey Goose in my liquor cabinet. I then had a pretty neutral wk. of cleaning, knitting, and lazing, which culminated in an AWESOME w/e in Charleston: After getting a super-hot haircut and hanging out at my old place of business where I was flattered and nearly cajoled into coming back, I went home to an evening w/the adopted 'rents, who spoiled me and let me do excessive amts. of laundry. The next night I *finally* got to go to a med school post-test party, where I was able to hang out w/two of my foxy fivers and their new (and old) foxy friends. I was esp. gratified when I accidentally-on-purpose started a little drama b/t Christy's loser ex and his current 'cum dumpster' girlfriend (his words, not mine!). Who knew simply being female and talking to that chump for 15 secs. abt. how we met when he was dating my friend would set his vapid little ferret off like that?! (Okay, so I had heard numerous stories to that effect -- hee hee...) Capped off the night shakin' my ass for two hrs. at Trio, where in addition to having a booty-droppin' good time w/my girls and our adorable male escorts (friends of Christy's, totally innocent), I was pleased to note in my reflection on the mirror running along the back wall of the club that my teeth glowed in the black light. Not in that scary Ross-from-Friends sort of way, but just enough to let me know that my hrs. of dental hygeine are in fact worth it. haha! The next night was a day of shopping w/Jill, followed by Christy's holiday party, which was unquestionably the most delicious social event I have attended all yr. I was able to catch up w/friends I do not see often enough and I got to witness the adorable hilarity that is drunken Brenton (Christy's younger brother). Truly, a fab-o evening.

However, the merriment was somewhat undercut by a reminder that thgs. cannot go well forever. During the party, I learned that one of my good friends fr. HS had been killed in a car accident the night before, along w/his sister. Ben was one of v. few ppl. I met during my brief (but still too-long) sojourn at Lexington HS who didn't make me want to run away screaming. He was hands down one of the nicest, most genuine ppl. I have ever known. He was also funny, clever, sensitive, creative, and a freaking genius. Oh, and he was totally hot. But he didn't know that and he also didn't know that he was pretty much one of the best ppl. in that school, or in the wider world for that matter. He was completely approachable, w/the biggest, most disarming smile and a laugh that was almost as loud as mine. I was always so happy to see him in the hallways or in class. Unfortunately, we lost touch shortly after I left Lexington, but I kept tabs on him periodically through mutual friends and kept the emails he had sent when we were in HS together. A few mos. ago I decided to write him to see what the heck he was up to and to let him know that I still thought of him as one the thgs. that made my time at Lexington not a totally unbearable experience. But I didn't. I kept forgetting or putting it off and meaning to do it... Until finally because I squandered my time like an idiot, I had to find out fr. his obituary that he had become an engineer (holy cow!) and was working at a firm in Columbia. I could easily have seen him any number of times in the last few mos. when I was up there visiting my mom and Chester if I had taken even five mins. to write him and just say, "what's up, bee-yotch?" [He would have laughed at that.] I feel indescribably stupid. It's not as if I didn't know that anythg. can happen and you shouldn't put thgs. off b/c you never know, blahdy blahdy blah. And yet, I am now sitting here sobbing looking at Ben's HS yearbook photo, re-reading the newspaper article abt. the accident, and wondering how on earth I can write his parents to say how amazing their son was and that I am so very, very sorry for their loss (which is doubly hard since they lost both of their children -- how do you even begin to sympathize with that much pain?) when I feel like such a total asshole for not telling *him* how great he was when I had so many chances to do so. The extent of my grief (and tear-induced snot) is incomprehensible to me, given my unfortunate lack of contact w/Ben over the last few yrs., but is perhaps exacerbated by that very same factor. I do not believe I have ever wished so badly I could change one thg. And thus, further evidence to support my not terribly original supposition that it is not possible for thgs. to go right w/o smthg. also going wrong.

B/C I am almost physically incapable of remaining serious for too long (and b/c I may suffocate on my own mucous if I keep crying like this), I'll close w/this little anecdote: I ventured forth into holiday traffic today to get another power cord for Eli's computer and was rewarded by one of the funniest sights ever. I was turning right onto a road just as a little silver convertible VW bug was coming to a stop on said road. The driver of this tiny little car was one of THE FATTEST women I have *ever* seen, and that's saying a lot, given the plethora of lard-fed fatties in this town. This woman was so big I honestly had to wonder how she was able to steer the car b/c there was no space b/t her torso and the steering wheel. If she ever puts the top down, it would probably be a hazard to nearby drivers b/c her ponderous amts. of flub would surely overflow the confines of that tiny vehicle the instant it had room to do so and would dangerously reduce the visibility of all drivers w/in 20 ft. of her. Wow. Ya know, some of you will think me cruel to write that abt. someone I saw only briefly or will think that I am again falling victim to my predilection for hyperbole, but, no. Seriously. She was *that* big. ...And to all a good night!

Eli, I hope you're actually reading my blog...

...b/c this entry is totally for you. I got my grades back today and it seems that somehow I managed to pull yet another academic miracle out of my ass. I got an *A* in Chemistry (I didn't even finish the final!!), an A in my Physics lab (not much of a feat, considering the monkeys that were in there w/me all got Bs and did v. little of the v. little required work), and a B in Physics. The B is somewhat bittersweet, given the fact that I made As on all of the tests before the final and had I allowed even 15 more mins. of study time, I probably could have kept my A, but ya know what, I'm over it. Two As and a freaking B when I was pretty well convinced that my finals were going to produce grades that would prohibit me fr. even applying to med school -- I'll take that shit. (And apparently I will stop using the English language in a coherent and correct way -- this entry is awful!) The part of particular relevance to you, Eli, is as follows, and I want you to remember this next time you start your erroneous argument that I can never let you be right: I am saying in writing now available in the public domain that you, Eli, were right abt. my final grades and I, jules, was wrong. YOU WERE RIGHT. ;) (Love you!)

An attempt at brevity (sorry -- it didn't work out)

As you all know, being concise is not really one of my strengths, but I'm going to give it the ol' college try here b/c I don't see how it would be possible for me to remember, compose, and type everythg. that has happened since my last entry. In an effort to facilitate my attempt at an organized, abbreviated entry, I will use a numbering format. Unfortunately, this will do v. little to give the entry an organized, abbreviated appearance, as I still have not figured how to make this thg. recognize when I want to put a space b/t paragraphs. Yes, my blog is smarter than me. I've accepted this, you should, too. Moving on to the Top 10 (or 12 or 6, I really don't know yet):

1) I am officially a Master of Letters. Whereas most receive this designation at around age 4, it took me 23 yrs., an exorbitant amt. of tuition money, and a full 12 mos. of cranial torture to achieve this. Go tit! [That will be funny to those who are familiar w/Frang.] Naturally, I could not simply mark this occasion w/a lovely trip to Scotland, a similar sidetrip to England, and a respectable showing at the graduation ceremony. No, instead, I successfully carried out the first two and then opted to make an ass of myself at the critical moment. Actually, 'opted' implies some sort of conscious decision or control over the situation on my part, which is not correct. Recently I have become aware that, despite my best intentions and yrs. of rehearsing for real life in my bedroom and in my head, I am rather more of a jackass than I would prefer. The following is a handy illustration of this unfortunate revelation: In the 600 y.o. ceremony still in use at St. A's, one is meant to walk across the stage, hand off one's hood to the waiting porter, kneel at what appears to be the Altar of Knowledge in front of the Chancellor, wait while he mutters in Latin and taps you on the head w/a piece of cloth that is somehow affiliated w/John Knox's underpants, bask in the knowledge that you are officially 'smart' while the porter places your hood over your head, stand up, bow/curtsy to the Chancellor, and exit the stage w/a confident step, knowing that you are now able to look down on all others who have not been granted the privelege of graduating fr. St. A's (except for those who graduated fr. Oxbridge). Instead, I completed the first four steps well enough, but then got nervous b/c I couldn't tell if the Chancellor was done (since, ya know, I don't speak Latin and I wasn't paying enough attn. to catch what he was reciting). Realizing that he was, indeed, finished speaking, I began to get up, only to be reminded by the rustle of cheap polyester at my ear that the porter had not yet behooden me, causing me to hastily resume my penitent posture in front of the Chancellor. I was so thrown off by this unfortunate occurrence that when I stood up after the porter was finished, I started to simply walk away, forgetting to bow/curtsy to the Chancellor. Belatedly remembering procedure (when it would probably have been better to just walk away), I halted, half-turned, made an awkward bob rather than my intended curtsy, said, "thank you," (UM?) and walked away w/somewhat less than a confident step. I did manage to exit the stage through the appropriate door, which is more than I can say for at least two in my acquaintance (hee hee...), but all in all, it was quite distressing and painful, both to experience and to behold. After the ceremony, I said to Ben (quite upset, naturally), "But I've been practicing my curtsy since I was six yrs. old and the one time I have a real reason to do it, I fuck it up!!", followed by a demonstration of a proper curtsy (which I *can* do!). To which Ben, in typically posh, English form replied, "Oh, is that what you were trying to do?" And that pretty well sums it up. (Aw, I heart Ben!)

2) I cannot possibly recount all of the wonderfully funny/poignant/drunken/happy moments I had during my too-brief return to Scotland, but I felt I should acknowledge them somehow herein, so here it is, my blanket what-a-fabulous time statement: Scotland is the only place to which I can fly and feel as if I am returning home. While I am sure that the natural beauty and charm of that country have a great deal to do w/this sentiment, I also know beyond a doubt that had it not been for the many ppl. who made up my hodgepodge family-away-from-home who were often the only thgs. keeping me sane and -- through it all -- *happy*, I would not feel so warmly toward that country, or abt. my post-grad experience generally. Seeing (most of) you all over that wk. was hands down the highlight of my yr., and will probably be eclipsed in the next 12 mos. only by Eli's homecoming. And only if that involves fireworks. hahaha... Kidding, of course, but, seriously, I love you all dearly and the only way our visit could have been better is if it had been longer. I am still lobbying for all of to buy a house and live together forever -- perhaps the one nr. Creightoun? (But only if Easy Access Olley and BackdoorMan Eamonn work together to demolish that unfortunate addition on the back.) ;)

3) I got into a *slight* verbal altercation w/a shitty rent-a-cop security guard while going through Newark on my way back to Georgia and nearly got arrested. Given this most recent incident and similar such happenings in the past -- all involving ppl. who personify the Southern stereotype of "Yankee" -- I have determined that it would be in my best interest to make a real effort to avoid that airport in the future, esp. when travelling internationally. Unfortunately, until I have a job that pays more than $7/hr. (or shit, until I get any job at all), I will have to travel as inexpensively as possible and this in many cases means passing through Newark. I can only hope that the next time I am forced to deal w/those fuckwits, I will have the self-control and deep breathing needed to hold my tongue w/o spontaneously combusting. Perhaps yoga would help?

4) I saw my friend Kristin after arriving back in the US. For those who do not know, Kristin lived in the same building as me while I was in St. A's and formed an integral part of the Angus House Krew until she was in a devastating accident in March. When I left Scotland in June, she was still unconscious, but was showing signs of improvement (trust me, when you've seen someone lay completely still for wks., every muscle jerk and eye flutter is a blessing for which you are thankful). Happily, Kristin recently regained full consciousness and is now working on recovering, physically and otherwise. She did not remember me or most of the ppl. she knew in St. A's (but she remembered you, Eamonn and perhaps Olley!), and she cannot currently hear or speak. But she can type, so we chatted via keyboard for a couple of hrs. Those who know Kristin and are interested in a detailed update, call/IM/email me. The report is generally good (sentence structure and spelling were quite good and at a level one would expect fr. a person w/her educational background), but she, of course, has a long way to go (in addition to the hearing and memory problems, she is having some trouble using her right leg and her left arm, the latter difficulty being due to insufficient care immediately following her accident -- thanks, Ninewells). She was v. happy to see me, is looking forward to a visit next month fr. our friend Jon, and I sincerely believe she will continue to improve. But while I was w/her I could not help but miss the Kristin we once knew and wonder whether or not she would return to us. And I had to wonder if the silence that prevails in her room when no one is w/her ever moves her family to tears not unlike those we, her other family, shed when watching her sleep in silence all those months ago.

5) Finals sucked, I get my grades back tomorrow, I have never in my life been so distressed regarding an academic performance, and that is saying a lot considering that I spent most of the 2004-2005 school yr. being made to increasingly believe that I was an idiot. That's all I want to say abt. that, but I'll find out for sure tomorrow whether or not my gut feeling is correct. Oh, no, one more thg.: To make this all hurt just that little extra bit more, my Physics prof told me that I had the highest grade in the class going into the final. How shameful, frustrating and disappointing, then, that I should so utterly and completely fail to live up to that on the final.

And on that bright and cheery note, I am off to bed, and I am fighting the compulsion to quote Puck's soliloquy abt. sleeping and dreaming fr. the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" b/c I *am* that much of a dork.