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Tonight is my break.

9 Mar

Kinda sort of.

The next week and a half are gonna be hell. Dead week and finals week? Off the top of my head I’ve got: two worksheets, a chapter in my Spanish workbook to complete, six short papers to write, two ten page papers to write/finish, a sonnet to memorize, one take home test to complete, one play to read, an eight page script to write and then perform with my group, and two final tests to study for.

Yes. The next thirteen days are going to be hell.

So I’m giving myself tonight off. I’m going to do nothing except watch Buffy for the rest of the night. I’m already on my fourth episode of the night (just eight more until I’m done with the series!). Tomorrow I’ll start tackling my mountain of homework, but tonight? I rest. I deserve a rest. Everyone does once in a while.

Five poems to summarize my day.

24 Feb

I. The Interview

April eighteenth.
It seems so far away,
but, from now until then, I will manage to stay mute
on this topic of irrefutable dispute.
Nothing will come from me talking on this subject
except getting hopes too high and feeling let down so low
in the end.
So.
I bite my tongue,
I grit my teeth,
I forever change the subject
until it’s the eighteenth.

 

II. The Mix Up

I swear I thought I was taking mine,
but instead I ended up taking yours.
Whoever you are, I am truly sorry
that you were deceived from such a treat.
However,
my order was delicious while yours was anything but,
so I saved you from having to drink
your nasty-ass coffee.
You’re welcome.

 

III. The Boy

Hey boy.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, boy, boy,
the things I wanna do to you,
the things I wanna mean to you,
the things I wanna speak to you.
How could I not realize
that you’ve been standing there
in front of my eyes for seven weeks now.
Oh boy,
how I wanna take you by that manly hand
of yours, gently, like a kiss,
and I will lean in close to softly whisper in your ear…
… Oh shit.
I’ve forgotten how to do this.

 

IV. The Audition

Blew
it
out
of
the
fucking
park.
Suck it.

 

V. The Friend

Three months
since I’ve heard your voice,
seen your face,
cause you’ve been so far away from me,
lost in outer space, which you dubbed California.
Tonight we drink
in the name of friendship.

Julia’s Good Day

22 Feb

You know something? I had a good day today. A really good day.

It’s not that most of my days are awful, though the few that are tend to be what I spend the most time talking about. Most of my days are mediocre, uneventful, dull, not worth writing about. They’re not necessarily bad, but they’re not exactly good either. But today? Today was lovely.

I woke up, ate oatmeal with brown sugar while watching The Daily Show (two more days till that interview!), and then worked out to The Colbert Report. After showering, I promptly decided today was going to be a “dress-up-for-no-reason” day. I’ve felt so rushed this term that I haven’t really dolled myself up for a while now. So I donned my favorite gray vest, the navy blue coat I don’t get to wear often, and my new blue high heels. I even painted my nails with my Muppet OPI nail polish (Gone Gonzo) at last! Once I deemed myself highly adorable I headed off to school.

Classes were, surprisingly, great today, and by great I mean tremendously laid back. In Spanish we got our composition rough drafts back and I had a 92% overall, and the teacher let got out early so I had time to grab coffee while chatting with Stephanie. Next was DWC, which didn’t even qualify as a class today. We spent the entire class period watching a movie version of Triumph of Love, which resulted in the class giggling the entire time. Then was Into to Lit Theory, ie. the bane of my winter term. The first forty or so minutes were, well, boring as all get out, but then the teacher told us we were going to watch a documentary about whale hunting that was pretty gruesome, so he excused everyone who couldn’t stomach it. At first I thought to myself, “No. I can totally get through this. I will stay.” However, the second there’s a sign of a dead whale? I flee. I then spent the next half hour discussing tattoos with other girls in my class. Then I had a nice chat with one of my classmates about her transferring down to California, and we compared cats. It was nice.

After class I killed some time on tumblr and caught up with my Vagina Monologues co-director, then I headed off to the movie theater and saw The Artist with Nick. It was lovely. Beyond lovely. Jean Dujardin had so much charm and Uggie the dog was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen (further proof that I need a terrier in my life). It was such a beautiful, elegant piece of art. A silent film about making silent films. It just fit so well. I’m so glad I finally got the chance to see it.

Now, I’ve been craving pancakes for over a month, so as I’m biking home it occurs to me that the little restaurant near my house serves pancakes. I make the choice to eat dinner there. As I go in the girl tells me they close at 9pm. I check my phone. 8:45pm. I’m about to walk out the door and resign to eating soup for dinner yet again when the girl tells me it’s no problem and they can still serve me. So I take a seat at the bar and order one buttermilk pancake and a side of hash browns. As I’m waiting on my food I check facebook and see that it’s my aunts birthday. After confirming with my dad that facebook is not a liar, I call her up. She tells me she had a really nice birthday, we talk a bit about my upcoming trip to Italy, and then she starts telling me about how she’s been taking writing classes and how she’s been writing a lot about our family history. I’m so happy for her, and I’m beyond happy to hear what she’s writing about. It’s been slowly dawning on me recently how I know so little about my family’s history, so I’m planning on shooting her an email sometime in the next couple days to ask her if I can read her work. After the call ended I scarfed down my pancakes and hash browns, which were delicious, as I read a chapter of Feed and made small talk with the friendly girl who served me.

Then I came home and Stephanie and I decided to do our Spanish oral report on The Daily Show, since it has to be somewhat related to politics. Now I’m going to clean my room while watching last night’s How I Met Your Mother, and then I’m going to curl up in bed and read some more Feed.

So, all in all, a really wonderful day.

Just because you’ve read Melville that doesn’t make you Jesus

18 Jan
Today in my Intro to Literary Theory class, my teacher gave us an hour long speech about how English majors are so much better than everybody else. How we’re so much smarter and open minded and have this better, grander outlook on life. Then everyone in the class chimed in, talking about how they so agree and wouldn’t dream of being any other major.

I have never rolled my eyes so many times in my life.

Yes, we read a lot, which (usually) makes us pretty open minded to things.

Yes, we are pretty well versed.

Yes, we know how to carry on a discussion.

Yes, we know our shit when it comes to literature.

But you know what? I’ve known quite a few English majors that I would definitely not classify as the best people on earth. In fact, I’ve known English majors that are just plain rotten people and are not open minded in the slightest. I have known English majors that are closed off to the ways of the world, and even though they’ve read books that express certain subjects they refuse to see eye-to-eye with them. And I know of theatre majors, math majors, history majors, communication majors, art majors, science majors, political science majors, Spanish majors, psychology majors that are absolutely fabulous people who are ridiculously open minded, incredibly intelligent, extremely well spoken, and just the sweetest people on this planet.

This isn’t me discrediting being an English major. I love being an English major, just as much as I love being a Theatre major and a Photography minor. It’s funny, because while this is the first time I’ve experienced this in an English class, this is the exact same thing I’ve noticed in quite a lot of my Theatre classes. The teachers have a tendency to always go on about how no other major can compare and how we have such a better grasp on life and, well, it’s just bull shit. Everyone has a major that fits them, and just because it’s one thing or another doesn’t make them a better/worse person. It’s the character of a person that matters, not what they happen to like studying.

The only way your major could possibly make you automatically better than everyone else is if you happened to major in cheeseburgers.

Or time travel.

Or Muppets.

Or cuddling.

Or magic.

Then maybe I’d nod and say, “Okay, yeah, you obviously know what’s up and I will submit that you are a million times better than everyone else.” But only then.

A dick of a whale.

16 Jan

Today I started reading Moby Dick. Why? Because I was assigned it for a class. You would think that it’d just be, y’know, ten or so chapters. No. We were assigned forty-two chapters to read over this weekend. Let me repeat myself:

Forty. Two. Chapters.

And I have been sitting on my butt reading this book almost non-stop all day. Yes, I took a little TV/lunch break, I did some dishes, I went on facebook, but other than that my day has pretty much revolved around this damn whale, who – mind you – hasn’t even shown up in this book so far. And you know what?

I still have sixteen more chapters left to go.

I have only made it through twenty-six chapters. I mean, seriously? Seriously??? Who assigns forty-two chapters of Moby Dick for the first weekend of the term? I haven’t even touched my Spanish composition or my paper analyzing the Earl of Surrey’s Assyrian King poem because of this fucking book. And what sucks the most is I actually like this book, but the fact that I’m being forced to read so much of it in such a short amount of time is making me slowly hate it more and more. This is not Looking for Alaska, which I was assigned to read the whole of over the course of this weekend. Alaska is a quick, easy read that I had no problem being assigned. No. This is not a young adult fiction book, meant for high schoolers. This is Moby Dick. The language drags and Melville takes every goddamn opportunity to embellish and rant about things that are not essential to the story. I… just… UGH.

I need a drink.

College Makes Me Sleepy

9 Jan

Well, tomorrow’s the start of yet another school term (or, rather, today is the start, seeing as it’s now 12:20am). This marks my eleventh term of college. Eleven seems like such a small number, when you take into account all that I’ve been through, everything I’ve done. All the classes I’ve taken, friends I’ve made, plays I’ve helped out with, papers I’ve written, drama I’ve dealt with. Surely the number of terms I’ve been here must be larger than tiny, little eleven, right?

How do I feel about going back to school? Tired. All I am is tired nowadays, it seems. I remember the days where I’d stay awake till 4am, watching shit television and writing my heart away. Now? Now I feel lucky if I get to go to sleep before 1am (Insomnia, thou art a heartless bitch).

A part of me wishes I could just be graduated already. I just want to stop learning and start doing. My brain feels so jammed full of facts and figures and knowledge I’m never – not ever – going to need in the real world. Can’t I just receive a diploma and be handed a job? Is that too much to ask?

Then, of course, I start thinking about life after college and I get scared. I feel like this is something all college kids go through. We long for freedom, we ache to be done, but the second we actually put some real thought into it we become petrified. The real world? Where mortgages, insurance, and having to buy your own cellphone exists? It’s scary. College is a routine, and we, as humans, like routine. Routine is dependable; routine is safe and secure. Routine is comfortable… but we can’t stay in the routine forever.

So, we grow up. It’s unavoidable. It’s something we all must do.

In short? I plan on throwing all of my things for school in my bag, wrap up on my online business, and then read Five Things You Meet in Heaven until I pass out. Good plan? Good plan.