hey guys, what if i started blogging regularly again?

She's wearing black, decorated with white lines. Her hair is just the opposite.
We're simplifying language, understanding our words, dissecting our souls.
We're making meaning
from the madness
and The Audacity of Hope
which I will read this summer,
because I want to know
like she knows.

{i drive back to fake life}
without my mind on
autopilot.
simple words.

{she says the only advantage of getting old is the perspective you gain.}

I listen.


{to lyndsi shae: i think you know who this is about. i loooove her class. and her. and you.}

Reconciled words.

Today I have confidence again.
{i hate admitting that maybe my confidence depends on my success. but that's not that crazy. it does. i am.}


--The only reason he took off points was for LENGTH.--

Triumph!




My words are back.
I missed you, old friends.

Oh, posh.

MY HEAD HURTS.
I really think I concussed the other day.
You remember--
When I ran into the wall while laser tagging?
Uh huh.


Also, my Italian has SUCKED lately.
I don't know what's up, but I just can't freaking communicate anymore.
Actually, I'm having troubles doing most things right now.
My memory is failing me; all my body wants to do is sleep and hurt; I can't find enough time in a single day to finish all of my tasks...

This could be the result of one of two things:
1. I have become elderly.
Or 2. Finals are rapidly approaching.

I would prefer that neither of these two things be the culprit.

BLAH BLAH BLAH.


Another plug: I can't wait for THANKSGIVING

Three reasons I cannot possibly wait:
1. Dad's pumpkin pie. Best pumpkin pie, hands down.
2. Santa's Grand Event will be on black Friday-- and the sooner Thanksgiving is here, the sooner that blasted event will be over. My stress level will decrease significantly.
3. SLEEP/Pickup soccer games/board games into the night/Christmas music/Christmas shopping/Family/Left-over turkey sandwiches/Christmas lights/Did I mention sleep?


I want to write a letter

to all those who I've held back words.

I want to be completely honest

with all my nouns and verbs.



Really, though.

Why don't I?

I'll tell you.

Because I'm scared.
Because it's not proper.
Because it would do no good.
Except, perhaps, in making me feel better.


And THAT, my friends, is not enough.



My mind is so ridiculously fried. Really. Today, I have to write an issues paper. It has to be 10 pages, and intelligible. This is going to a difficult task, as I can't even write an intelligible, couple paragraphs for my extremely unimportant BLOG.

Such is life.


Oh gosh, I sound so angry at the world.
I'll end with this:


I love life. (Really, I do. Believe me. I LOVE IT I TELL YOU.)


Great. Now the girl sitting next to me in the lab thinks I have an overactive saliva gland.

Anyway.

I'm going to go.
I really hope no one read the entirety of this.
(Clearly.)

Currently.

I have fallen in love with this poem.


Thank you, John Donne.

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning

As virtuous men pass midly away

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

The breath goes now, and some say, No;

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, no sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,

Men reckon what it did and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

Through greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doeth remove

Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so much refined

That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the center sit,

Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

Sorry, kind of long. I just think his imagery and metaphors are so great, and so ridiculously profound. I LOVE JOHN DONNE. Actually, I'm more apt to liking his later poetry-- I'm not too enthralled by the eroticism in his earlier poetry-- but even that is just so... well written. Blast.

So my bed bugs are killing me. I am almost throroughly convinced that I have them-- HOWEVER, I refuse to act upon it (yes, girls, this means not sleeping in my bed/getting rid of them in some fashion) until I have proof. The bug-bites aren't proof enough, you say? Well, I say, they could be any number of bugs, and so I will be skeptical until I have found proof of the bed bugs. I have been studying up on them for the last hour, and I will be taking precautions in dealing with the little buggers. Hopefully I can find one and catch it in a bag-- That is definitely proof enough.

In other news, I aced my Italian final. It feels good-- getting As again. Last year was a huge hit to my self-esteem, but I am slowly rebuilding the confidence in my intellect I once had.

I went to Squaw Peak for the first time ever. It was so beautiful... and FREEZING. Also, it took forEVER to drive up there. And no, there was no macking on this trip. Just some good friends, a roaring dance party and some hot chocolate. Who needs kissing when you've got all that?