(first off I misspelled 'whether' in my last post as 'wether' I'm slightly ashamed at missing that poor little h that separates a person that can spell and one that was a spelling bee drop-out, which, consequently, I am. It's out . . .I didn't even want to be in the spelling-bee so I spelt my name when the teacher asked me to spell 'mutton' I knew how to spell it, I just didn't. the funny thing is that some kids thought I had gotten the word right . . .ah the rising generation).
Real issue of business: it's incredibly cold and I'll let you have three guesses as to what is falling from the sky in a peaceful, yet somewhat hateful way. If it's taken you this long to guess, you've obviously been living somewhere hot and secluded for a very, very, very long time. Welcome to winter semester, where it always snows but it's never Christmas. I think the snow is so pretty and this is one of the problems with it: you can't completely despise something so beautiful, so I don't. Besides, sometimes I feel Scadinavian and this game of make believe slightly helps to buffer the ickiness and general dread I feel when it starts to snow . . .again.
I woke up this morning, very early . . .before dawn even considered cracking, after a night full of disturbing dreams. It was one of those play/movie dreams I have where my life turns into a play or I'm just in actor in the play and I know it's a play but I can't see the audience. Last night's was the former. It was a party that I was at and there was a man with two sets of eyes stacked one right under the other. He only opened his bottom eyes right before he Sweeneyed someone . . .you know, slit their throat with a razor blade. The wierd thing is that as scary as he was (and believe me he was plenty scary) you could tell that most of his face was put on by makeup . . .and yet I was terrified of him. I think this is linked to the fact that our Sondheim musicals class is finally having a Sweeney Todd night and I pretty much had an irrational and fairly poopy day yesterdtay. I had to wake up to watch Mr. Smith Goes to Washington for one of my classes . . .let me say that when you're up until midnight finishing the worst paper of your life, your laundry refuses to dry and half your clothes are completely wrinkled and the kitchen is in disarray, your suitemate loses her phone in the overhead light of her bedroom and then are expected to wake up for a 6:45 am showing of a movie . . .let's just say that tolerance for some of the over-acting (mostly on the part of the actresses) runs low and I couldn't sensor what I said . . .it was as if I had never gone to sleep. I am proud to say that I caught the humor even in the strange early-morning time warp that became the JSB auditorium.
Oh and I refuse to fall victim to procrastination ever again . . .I pretty well hate my life when I do.