Art thou pale for weariness
The first week of school is over. Getting up early does not agree with me. Work starts next week, and it will make it even more difficult. I'm not sure how I shall have enough time for all of my classes, but if I were to drop one I'd feel like silly because that would not mean very many credits, and although the goal is simply to graduate, I've always thought the quicker the better. Sadly, I don't think I will enjoy only getting a four or five hours sleep a night like this week. Not quite sure what I shall do about it. Trying to work on my writing assignment, but I am tired, and I do not feel like writing about any of the boring prompts for this chapter. Instead I've turned on X-Men Numero Uno and am watching Senator Kelly get turned into a mutant. The sign that says "Send the mutants to the moon forever!" makes me laugh.
I just made the worst tv dinner ever. It tasted like instant rubber with a side of corn and went to the trash bin. The few bites I swallowed of this travesty of the culinary arts, this sin against the senses, are now making me queasy.
Good things? It's a football day. I can sleep in today when I finally do go to sleep.
When I'm alone, I always have more lights on than I really need. I find artificial light comforting. The sunshine is, of course, just the opposite.
There was a commercial on the television earlier for a self-defense course for women. It was very strange. These women would run at the dummy, proceed to pummel it with their fists or slap at its face while they screamed, "Get back! Get back!" I have never heard anyone say before that if you are being attacked you should beat your fists against the attacker's chest. The thing to do is get away using clever tactics such as those Officer Henry instructed us to use in aerobics class! There's the leg bone/foot stomp, the extreme ear pain of clapping your hands over the attackers ears, or the classic poke-in-the-eye-and-run-like-hell method which might be particularly satisfying in such a situation. Either way, there's no reason to get closer to an attacker to hit them with a good amount of force while yelling at them to go away. One should instead concentrate on going away themselves instead of playing role reversal.
Local commercials are pretty frightening over all though. The Matrix parody is awful. And then there is a stereo store that has a man dressed up as a woman genie who tells you you're a dunce to not buy this or that set of speakers. And Kiefer Kia really thinks that their blonde chick can sing, but she sounds somewhat like an ancient tape player running out of batteries when she tries to be trilly and emotive. And the commercials with the guys saying, "Boy I wonder if there's a place I could ask questions about sex and get all the real information from." Imagine his surprise when he discovers there is such a place and if you go in and talk about your sex life, they give you a coupon for free groceries!
Of course, national commercial aren't that much better. I mute the milkshake one whenever possible. Same goes for the Heineken "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me" song. Those commercials just sicken me a little. They make me want to not buy their icky products. Red Stripe has good commercials, but I still probably wouldn't buy their beer. Few commercials make me want to purchase the products they're advertising.
When you're tired and have taken ambien but are fighting it for the sake of finding gloves online, you must pay the price. For the mannequin hands are most creepy, and they give you the feeling of a plastic body somewhere missing a piece. These little pictures positively cry out, "Give us bodies! Give us circulatory systems. If there is any decency in your heart, leave us in this separated state no longer!
I've always pretty firmly believed that body parts go with bodies, more appropriately, their own bodies. Now there are exceptions. I myself am a registered bone marrow donor. And if you needed a kidney, I'd send it on over in a Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox loaded up with ice and Otter Pops.
So full of consumerism, I could spend hours looking at socks online. This is the state of our nation. This is partly because I need socks, and partly because there is always the hope that if you look long enough you will find that perfect cozy pair of socks that you'll love and that will last forever if you feed them the plants grown by the magic beans you traded for the prize winning cow that can moo in time to Battle Hymn of the Republic.
I just made the worst tv dinner ever. It tasted like instant rubber with a side of corn and went to the trash bin. The few bites I swallowed of this travesty of the culinary arts, this sin against the senses, are now making me queasy.
Good things? It's a football day. I can sleep in today when I finally do go to sleep.
When I'm alone, I always have more lights on than I really need. I find artificial light comforting. The sunshine is, of course, just the opposite.
There was a commercial on the television earlier for a self-defense course for women. It was very strange. These women would run at the dummy, proceed to pummel it with their fists or slap at its face while they screamed, "Get back! Get back!" I have never heard anyone say before that if you are being attacked you should beat your fists against the attacker's chest. The thing to do is get away using clever tactics such as those Officer Henry instructed us to use in aerobics class! There's the leg bone/foot stomp, the extreme ear pain of clapping your hands over the attackers ears, or the classic poke-in-the-eye-and-run-like-hell method which might be particularly satisfying in such a situation. Either way, there's no reason to get closer to an attacker to hit them with a good amount of force while yelling at them to go away. One should instead concentrate on going away themselves instead of playing role reversal.
Local commercials are pretty frightening over all though. The Matrix parody is awful. And then there is a stereo store that has a man dressed up as a woman genie who tells you you're a dunce to not buy this or that set of speakers. And Kiefer Kia really thinks that their blonde chick can sing, but she sounds somewhat like an ancient tape player running out of batteries when she tries to be trilly and emotive. And the commercials with the guys saying, "Boy I wonder if there's a place I could ask questions about sex and get all the real information from." Imagine his surprise when he discovers there is such a place and if you go in and talk about your sex life, they give you a coupon for free groceries!
Of course, national commercial aren't that much better. I mute the milkshake one whenever possible. Same goes for the Heineken "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me" song. Those commercials just sicken me a little. They make me want to not buy their icky products. Red Stripe has good commercials, but I still probably wouldn't buy their beer. Few commercials make me want to purchase the products they're advertising.
When you're tired and have taken ambien but are fighting it for the sake of finding gloves online, you must pay the price. For the mannequin hands are most creepy, and they give you the feeling of a plastic body somewhere missing a piece. These little pictures positively cry out, "Give us bodies! Give us circulatory systems. If there is any decency in your heart, leave us in this separated state no longer!
I've always pretty firmly believed that body parts go with bodies, more appropriately, their own bodies. Now there are exceptions. I myself am a registered bone marrow donor. And if you needed a kidney, I'd send it on over in a Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox loaded up with ice and Otter Pops.
So full of consumerism, I could spend hours looking at socks online. This is the state of our nation. This is partly because I need socks, and partly because there is always the hope that if you look long enough you will find that perfect cozy pair of socks that you'll love and that will last forever if you feed them the plants grown by the magic beans you traded for the prize winning cow that can moo in time to Battle Hymn of the Republic.
posted by Miss Marjie at 5:50 AM
0 comments
I have noticed some disturbing similarities between the common Corvallis spiders which invade my house, and the beings known as The Shadows in Babylon 5. Now, although regular arachnids do not have the caraspace that is supposed of the shadows, they are both pointy and black and seem capable of devouring you with a single look. The Vorlons ask the question, "Who are you?" They don't really care, it just occupies you so they can go play shuffleboard or whatever it is they do in their fumey rooms. The Shadows ask, "What do you want?" which is precisely the question that these spiders pose! "What do you want? Do you want to kill a poor defenseless creature simply because they scare the shit out of you? Or do you want to do the kind thing and just ignore it until it goes away? Do you want spiders to crawl under the hat you consider wearing to bed for protection, burrowing their way into your ears and setting up shop like at Z'ha'dum, or do you want to take a fly swatter/shoe/box/heavy object to this creature of the dark and set it straight once and for all--the outside world is yours, the house is mine. Do you want to get out your P5s and your vacuum cleaners and take these creatures to task, or do you want to resort to Pledge, which is said to have a paralyzing effect upon them? The question remains, just what do you want?!
Happy Birthday to Roald Dahl! He's delighted readers for the last fifty years, and I am sure will continue to do so for pretty much forever. Because forever is a long time. And I've absolutely no qualms about using it liberally. Roald Dahl is awesomeness, and he left the world with wonderful stories that I loved as a child, and still think are super fantastich today. I'm grateful. So happy happy birthday to him, even though he's been dead 16 years.
Stever bought me a kit to grow my very own carnivorous plants. So thoughtful. I'm quite excited about it, and soon (a couple months)I hope to have some precious little venus fly traps, yellow trumpets, pitchers, sundews, and cobra lilies to eat bugs and snap at pencils and all that jazz. Even if it doesn't turn out quite right this first time due to weather, I'll be well-prepared for spring. There's just something kind of fun about plants that devour pests. Perhaps tomorrow I'll start my bog. I've a bog. Maybe one day, if the fates are kind, I shall also have a moat. And one of those rooms shaped like a witch's hat. Turrets, I think they're called.
