It's contingent upon...

The primary class was great today... that is, if great happened to translate to psychotically wiggly and incessantly talkative for the entire two hours. Which is fine. I have those days all the time. Still. Sundays sans treat bags are bad times, and not just for the four-year-olds.

I got new specs a few weeks ago-- a fact that I failed to mention on this blog for two reasons: 1.) The content of my most recent blogs has not catered to a casual drop of a minor image adjustment, and 2.) My most recent blogs have failed in the "recent" department. My apologies. Anyway, being an English major at the BY, I have learned that there are certain image requirements to be accepted/taken seriously by peers and professors alike who are also in the department. No one will admit to said requirements, of course, because an image requirement would mean conformity and anti-creativity/lack of individuality, and of COURSE no English major is prone to such horrendous ideals. Ironically, though, every single coed in the department seems to have gotten the image memo, and is distinguishable as such regardless of circumstance. Defining them as hipsters would probably be too extreme, but most are borderline-- you know the type: thick rimmed glasses, skinny jeans, colorful scarfs, aged sweaters, and t-shirts with obnoxious political statements advertised across the stomach. Judgmental, you say? I am only able discuss the stereotypical BYU English major's outer apparel like this because, unabashedly, I can admit to being *somewhat* like them. Hence the specs. I am (currently) pursuing an image that will enhance my ethos in my chosen educational pursuit. This might lead one to ask if my ability should be the sole cause for the established ethos. If, instead of worrying about my image, or about my specs, I should only worry about increasing my aptitude and skills. My response? Sure. In fact, absolutely. But I don't make the rules. I don't make the world turn. I just sprint at a rapid, continual pace to keep up with the rest of humanity while struggling to hold my specs to my face. To establish ethos. I'll post pics.

The brothers graduated this past Friday. It made me nostalgic. And made me feel old. People keep telling me that I should feel young, because I am, but I think that they probably didn't feel young when they were 20, either. Life is too full of vitality (yes, I purposefully chose to write a redundant sentence like that...) when you are 20 for you to feel young. There's not enough time to feel young anymore.

69 days, people. 69. 69 is divisible by 3. 3 sets of 23. Do we understand how CLOSE that is??....!

Summer nights have finally arrived, which means summer has officially begun. The chill of the evening has been replaced with biting bugs, the clouded spring skies return a darkened abyss filled with bright stars. It's perfect if you're a lover, and it's perfect if you're just you, too. But it makes you want your lover. A lot. Hypothetically, of course.

Frozen yogurt might be the best thing since sliced bread-- second only because of its small increase in calories. Not only is it healthier than ice cream, but my personal opinion is that it tastes better, too. My current, personal favorite is this lovely joint. The girls and I paid a visit last night. It was pulchritudinous. (It was a must to use the word. Surely, you understand.)

And with that random regurgitation of thought, I will end this arbitrary work of nonsense.