my apartment

has decorations. And it's exciting.

I have my balance between my job and my school, even though I'm working/schooling every day of the week. Them's the breaks, though.

I'm digging this new linguistics path I'm on. Considering dropping the double major of English/linguistics and just going for linguistics. The thing is, I still don't know what I'd be able to do with that. Better than teaching, though, that's for sure.

Cake balls: I'm going to make them. Soon. And I cooked dinner...I'm feeling this domestic thing.

It's kinda weird, but I feel like I wouldn't mind living alone. Except for the fact that it'd be too easy for me to just become a hermit. Thoughts, thoughts.

Let's see, what else....I'm sure there's a ton, but nothing of huge significance. New camera. Too much homework all the time, none of which I've done for the night even though when I get home from work tomorrow I'll be exhausted. The snowstorm at the beginning of the year coincided with the first week of classes, which were mostly canceled, and now they're scrambling to catch up. Bought some stuff online today: deck of cards, CD.

OH! I saw Burlesque. Favorite. Movie. Ever. First of all, the musical scenes are AMAZING. No, seriously. (Well, except for Cher's. That's just awful. Cannot believe her song won the Golden Globe). Then, there's the dialogue. "I was there when you were throwing up everything but your memories!" Thirdly, Cam Gigandet and his fine self. And finally: Alan Cumming. No, honestly, this is the best movie I've seen. Ever.

I think I'm much better at this when I'm at my least emo, but unfortunately, I don't ever feel like writing anymore when I'm all chipper and whatnot.

i'm just not sure

What should be happening. Or, more specifically, I know what other people think should be happening, and I know what's going on with the majority of people, and what's expected of me.

I'm just not too sure how to get to that point. I need a kick, a jump-start.

So probably what I'm looking at is awkwardly bumbling around.

HA! Like that's new.

being home

is not as fun as it used to be. The change from dorm to apartment means that I have my own room, and now I realize that I have so much more privacy. Which, being the homebody that I am, I enjoy. And now that I have a job again (thank GOD), I see myself coming home less and less.

But, on the bright side, I get to see the people I love. So that's nice.

4 As and 2 A-s this semester!

dear school

I don't know if you know this, but it's Thanksgiving break.
Which means that no, I don't want to do this
Women's Studies paper or
English paper or
English forum or
Linguistics essay or
Italian work or
Psychology project or
theater project.

But I guess, if you're going to be such a dick about it...


Sincerely,
H

I think

technically what I'm doing is called "eating your feelings," but I call it making my stomach less lonely.

I'm tired. I'm tired of school, of doing school work, of sitting here acting like any of this shit actually matters when I know that it doesn't. The petty dramas, the waiting by the phone. How could I be so stupid, to expect him to say yes?

Yes, it's about a boy. When is it not, is what I'd like to know? A stupid, ridiculous boy (who just so happens to complement me so perfectly it's amazing). Nope, it can't be about anything meaningful.

It's times like this that I feel like a stranger in my own home. In my very apartment. My roommates look at me like I've lost my mind, and I find myself explaining things away. Oh, I don't mean to say that, I'm just in a bad mood, I didn't sleep much last night, this girl in my class annoyed me, I ate some bad meat, I'm not hungry right now, no I'm not mad at you.

It's all just...ridiculous.

I'm going to go look at Jupiter, now.

hungry

At times like this:
When there's no work to do
When I've read the next chapter
When I've checked the items off the list
When I've finished the book.
When I have baked and I have cooked: I am hungry.

Hungry for something else.
Hungry for a new adventure.
Sit, sit, sit on the bench, sure,
But you will never remember
What they took from you.
The working and the reading and the checking and the finishing and the baking and the cooking--
You're not normal, and you hunger
For the words danger danger danger.

books

Growing up, I was surrounded by books. My parents' house has at least a book shelf per room, and I schlep a few select novels with me every time I come to Athens. My favorite Disney character was Belle, who made literacy look like something to be valued and loved (along with having a kick-ass voice).

Even today, when I spend hundreds of dollars on textbooks, I love them. I love the books that I think are poorly written or the books that have a ridiculous story line. Sad, happy, romantic, suspenseful, long, short...it's a thing that I invest my time in. I spend hours, days, weeks with a book. I know its characters, its typos, the sound the binding makes when I crack it open. I dog-ear the pages, leave them lying open, taking them to the gym with me, and drink (and spill) coffee while reading. My books look like they've survived wars, some with pages missing and others black with my furious ballpoint scribblings. Old and used or new and pristine, a book has a specific smell to it that I always breathe in. I breathe in that book smell and I know that, for at least a few minutes, I'm going to be elsewhere.

When I loan a book to someone, I'm excited. I know it's a bit extreme, but it's almost like having a child and sending it out into the world--you're not sure if it's going to be accepted by everyone it meets, and even though you love it with all of your heart, it might be rejected. Ignored. Hated, even. So when a friend asks me if I know of any good books, I think hard about what they're like and what book would be right for them. What book could I send out to this person and have them accept it for what it is?

Anyway.