. . .

I found out this morning that the mother of my theatre prof(he treats me as though I'm a daughter, and his daughters and I have been really good friends for the past few semesters) died sometime over the weekend. We'd been expecting this for quite awhile; she was on dialysis, had a quadruple bypass in October, and had been hospitalized since then. She was on a ventilator after the surgery until she made the doctors take it out a few weeks ago; she couldn't swallow anything; her son, my prof, conviced her to have a feeding tube put in, and it was a week after the scheduled date, that the doctors finally did it. She was in a hospital over two hours from here, until my prof finally talked the doctors into moving her closer to home...last week. It's just been one mess after another, and I have hurt for that family so much over the past couple of months. I'm glad it's over. We all thought she was going to die back in October, and she's alternated between hovering-near-death and not-doing-that-poorly for the past two months...the emotional trauma of going through that so many times was horrible (she's dying! oh. no. she's doing better! no. she's dying!). I'm glad it's over and they can heal.

I'm going to the visitation and funeral tonight.

December 25, 2004

Merry Christmas.

Christmas shopping

Old Navy, how do I love thee?
Let me count the ways...

Because of...
2 silky camisoles,
2 comfy pairs of jeans,
1 green Ski Bunny shirt,
1 snuggly Aspen retro ski long-sleeve tee,
1 orange polo,
1 soft beige cardigan, and
1 ribbon belt (which so snazzily matches exactly the beige cardigan and the lace on a camisole)

...and by far, thy most expensive item was a 16.50 polo shirt; this, truly, is why I love thee so deeply.

bamboo slivers under my fingernails

The Tension. Yes. This is why I'm glad I'm moving away. I'm going to miss this university, miss my people, but this constant tension at home is what makes my moving even more sensible.

I just realised, the constant presence of the rapper/deciding my major might not be the only things affecting my phobia/lack thereof. The worried, anxious part of my personality started receding at the same time I started spending all day, every day (except for saturdays) at school, instead of at home. And now it's surfacing again. Finals just got over yesterday, this is the first day of my being at home, and my nerves are already feeling shaky.

I don't want this anymore.

the weapon I'm talkin bout is mistletoe

Some freshman just detonated a fart bomb in the upper level computer lab in the library.

I totally understand the feeling behind it -- "today was my last final! woo! enough with the books and the writing of papers and the staying in this place until after it closes! enough with getting 105% on tests! enough with only getting to watch 'Seinfeld' two days a week! enough with having no social life! enough with being the teacher's pet! enough with the fluorescent lights! enough with the grimy unergonomically-correct keyboards! enough!"

but I totally don't understand the stinkiness. ICKY STINKINESS.

no. way.

This is ridiculous. Every college teaches French, right, since it is so popular, so why should I bother to double-check the university that I'm transferring to? Oh, maybe because THEY DON'T OFFER ANY COURSES IN FRENCH. I could learn Ojibwe, Chinese, Spanish, Japanese, German, or English, though. OJIBWE. I don't WANT Ojibwe. I want FRENCH.


I did a search of the site and found a "new faculty member" who has taught english and french for 22 years, but other than that blurb (posted I-don't-know-when), there is absolutely no mention of her on the site. No course listings, no e-mail address, nothing.

finals "week" aka THE "WEEK" FROM HELL

II down, II to go.

At my school, we no longer have finals "week." No, instead of a separate week of tests at the end of the semester, the administration has decided to have finals start on a Friday and run through a Wednesday. Why? I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me, either. I'm just grouchy about the fact that yesterday was the last day of class, and my first final was today -- apparently my astronomy class voted to have it a day early. I was at the library on campus until after 10 pm yesterday, and studied mostly all day today (with a break for a Subway run, where the white rapper turned on the charm by acting mentally retarded (he was my younger brother, Mickey, and we don't take him out much) and smushing chips in my hair) for my 5 o'clock test. I'm confident I got a high A on the astronomy final -- on my previous test in that class, I didn't get an A (my first non-A in that class), and when I opened the cover of the blue book, there was a letter in it from my professor, saying how this was "not representative of your usual work," and do I "want to talk?" and was I "just having a bad day?" Last night I talked with him, and found out that my grade thus far, even factoring in that not so great test, was an extremely high B. I told him I was planning on getting an A on the final; "I'm not arguing with that plan! I want to put another fat A on your exam." Tonight, though, when he was telling another kid and me about his plans for next semester and found out that I'm not going to be here, he threatened to not even look at my test, just give me a zero so that I can't leave. ;) He's the second professor who's threatened that. I'm going to miss it here so much. It's so cozy, so friendly...I know nearly all the professors, and they all call me by name; that campus has seemed like a home for the past two and a half years.

Today, the anthropology/sociology prof caught me sneaking into the teacher's lounge and emerging with some goodies from their Christmas feast. I tried to explain myself to her: "See, the way I look at it is, I've been here longer than a lot of the faculty..."

Tomorrow I have finals in French, and Vocal Techniques...

edit: I pestered my astronomy prof this morning about grading my test, and ran into him in the hall before lunch, when I was going to go see if he had graded it yet -- or if he'd been slacking off again. ;)
"Yes, your test is graded."
"Oh! May I see it?"
"No, you may not. Because if I let you see it, there will be no living with you anymore, because your head will be this big."
Then, he didn't even tell ME what my grade was, but instead talked with another professor who was standing there, about my grade.
"Yeah, so SHE just got 105 on my final. Not 105 points. 105 percent. Sheesh."

organs

Poverty often leaves people with no choice other than to donate kidneys.

trendsettee

1. Movie Star (favorite snack food + maternal grandfather's first name): Cookie Lloyd

2. Fashion Designer (first word to your left + favorite restaurant): Windows Garden

3. Socialite (silliest childhood nickname + town where you first partied): DJ Dallas

4. "Fly Girl," e.g. "J. Lo" (first initial + first two or three letters of surname): D. Mas

5. Detective (favorite baby animal + where you went to high school): Kid Valley

6. Soap Opera (middle name + street name where you first lived): Joy Seventeenth

7. Rock Star (favorite candy + last name of favorite musician): Nutty bar Martin

^ Heidi's was cooler.

feeear me

A bit ago, I mentioned the fact that I hadn't been able to wash my face with my eyes closed for a very long time, out of fear someone would come up behind me and push my head into the sink and drown me in warm water laced with Oil of Olay Sensitive Skin Foaming Face Wash. For the past two months, I've gotten consistently better, and I can now wash my face with my eyes closed, like, every single night. This is amazing!! I've been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a reason, and I can only think of two things that are different than before:

1. I've decided on a major
2. The constant presence of a white boy rapping.

Whatever it is, I'm not complaining. It's amazing, this being able to live without such choking fear.

****

As of today, my parents have been married for thirty-five years. Thirty-five. Wow.

command

Make love not spam.

holiday cheer 1.0

There's something horribly disturbing in the fact that after my brother told me he had to "go drop a few logs" and headed for the bathroom, I heard him whistling Christmas carols, the wonderful acoustics of the bathroom accentuating the slightly off-pitch notes.

Seasons 1 & 2

K: "So Newman called me again last night at three in the morning saying he was going up to the roof to kill himself."
J: "So what did you tell him?"
K: "I said, 'Jump!'"

When I move away and have a pet, I will name him "Kramer." And he will be my Kramer.

I messed with my hair with scissors again. Everytime I think about it, it sounds like a good idea, until I actually do it. I just get an itching for the feeling of cutting my hair sometimes. I can't believe this. What am I, FOUR?

I watched almost all of SNL last night, and enjoyed it so much -- though it isn't as great without Jimmy Fallon, and why do people keep talking about Lindsey Lohan's boobs? Are they really that interesting? I don't think so...but maybe that's just me.

-

How adorable.

death throes

I've been frantically busy. In the past week, I've written a paper, given a presentation, performed piano and voice in two concerts, painted an entire set for a play, helped run lights, and last night I had half an hour of Seinfeld before I got to fall asleep in the nook, snuggled up on my side with two fleece blankets to keep warm and a pillow nestled against my back. I hadn't felt that relaxed for a couple of weeks, and it was wonderful.

art prof: "I'm getting old. I...I don't like getting old."
me: "That's ok Don, you can still come play Spin-the-Bottle with us anytime."

The semester is winding down; my astronomy presentation is over, as of last night; the library is open an extra hour at night until finals are finished. The set from the last play is stuffed into the shop, half dismantled; the stage has little green splotches of paint all over and needs to be repainted. The professors are getting more boisterous; the students are getting quieter -- scared out of their minds thinking about finals.

When I'm nervous, anxious, or distressed, I play piano. It's a temorary escape; it allows me to take the hurt from inside my mind and give it to the instrument, so I don't have to think about it for a while. Yesterday I sought solace from the piano in the Fine Arts Center, and this led to a new arrangement of "What Child is This," one of my favorite Christmas songs (that and "O Holy Night"). When my hands work out something that sounds nice, I have to keep playing it.

I have a babysitting job tonight, and I am SO glad.