Bah. I see no reason why Physics TAs should be so adorable. I decided to go to a different study session today, due to the overwhelming oblivion and confusion ever present as I endeavor to plow through the work. I fell in love with the TA. He’s quirky, hilarious, and absolutely brilliant. And oh yes, I shan’t forget that he’s gorgeous, either. I couldn’t stop staring into his bright blue eyes today, and I’m not even one that fancies blue eyes (brown all the way, my friends). He’s insanely skinny, but he pulls off the difficult gangly look magnificently, and I actually understand what he teaches! It’s novel!

Sigh.

Well, let’s move on to a subject more relevant to my life, shall we? Today I secured a babysitting job that I think is going to be a beautiful thing for me. Mondays, 1PM to 4PM at $12 an hour. The kids are wonderful, too, the only negative aspect about this is that it makes me want to have a baby. And that scares me.

And if he reads this I think my dad is probably flipping out too.

Come,
come to me,
come touch the earth.
Drop upon me and fight
in all that magnificent fury
of yours.
Tear this skin,
melt me like wax,
beckon the tears from my face
and the visions from my eyes.
I can’t stop you;
your glory is beautiful,
your edges and shades are a delight
to me.
So come caress this land,
Wash me down and purify,
Refine my rapture
And form a fitter matron.

 

My trip was fabulous and inspired a new mentality in my worldview which I hope to the highest heavens isn’t permanent.

I really don’t like school. It’s cliché and terribly typical, but I want to see all that I can and experience the cultures that are so starkly but beautifully different. I want to leave, not next semester, not when I’m 18, I want to leave now.

I won’t. Of course I won’t. Even my wildest dreams are incapable of banishing my logic. I’ll finish this semester, of course, I’ll wrap up this year. But I think I want to take a year off and just go. How idealistic this is! Why has prudence and rationality and practicality fled me?

What I need to do is this: acquire a large sum of money in a short span of time and utilize these funds in traveling.

Sounds easy enough.

Daddy and I. 

My precious father and me. 

My Grandfather Jens (Dada) and me. 

My Grandmother, Aina (known to me as Mimi) and me. 

"Rachael, are you ready?" The bat shakily drawled, as was her wont.

Poor gal. There appears to have occurred a particularly violent earthquake this morning while she was applying her eye liner. Or maybe she wasn't going for the 'eye liner' look, perhaps the 'big black spots blotted around eye' approach appealed to her far more.

It's always funny to see the bat decked out. She curls her hair into large duskish clouds that swirl up in such a way that upon first sight one in forced to think that a pitchy storm decided to perch itself upon her head. She then accentuates the inclement weather that whisks about above with red lipstick applied in large, jagged strokes that turns her wrinkled mouth into a pointy rouged star that was slapped on her face sometime earlier. It's a very dramatic affair; whenever I see her with makeup full on I do a little double take that's always a bit difficult to recover from.

“We need to go.” She whistled two minutes later. I looked down at my watch. The clocker read 2, the plane left at 4:35.

“Mormor, we at least have another half hour, don't you think?” I inquired.

“I might get lost.”

To the airport? You jump on the freeway and follow the signs. How could you get lost?

I looked down at the stumpy woman who at that moment in time was busily running into her bedroom door in an attempt to infiltrate the lair.

“Yeah, you're right. We'd better go soon.”

Okay. This week is finished. Finally.

I believe I did OK on my fingerprint, and I also believe that I was thrashed and thrashed hard by the physics exam. As I left the room I couldn’t help but laugh, I had done so badly.

Mediocrity is depressing. An insanely extreme degree of failure, however, is just comical.

No, I didn’t do that wretchedly, although I probably scored 60ish. I probably did average, but it sucked all the same simply because I studied so hard. In the last 2 days I’ve gotten 9 hours of sleep, which is absurdly low for a slumber devotee such as my self. But, alas, I now fly to Cincinnati, and for four days I will be released from the seemingly unremitting clutches of school work. Huzzah. Huzzah indeed.

I am happy to be expanding in the different ways that I am, I rejoice in growth; it truly is a pursuit of mine. But it’s hard. It’s so hard and these last couple of days opened my eyes to a glimpse of pushing oneself and the necessity of doing so.

So Argh. I shall do it and find a way to enjoy it to the fullest. In the meantime I shall eat kix and contemplate packing before attacking my couch in a cataleptic onslaught to which I will shortly succumb.

I bid you adieu.

I busy. I’m busy studying, I’m busy painting, I’m busy commuting between the two.

I’m afraid I can’t write, but Friday morning at 9:35 I’ll be done with this week, done with my fingerprint, done with my first Physics final. I might have time for a quick word, and If I do I'll post. Farewell until then, my darlings.

I spent the last 2 hours curled up into a ball leaning my head on mum. It’s so extremely interesting; when one is ill, there is no better medication then a caring mom. When she came home I hurriedly scampered to her and began to whine. She made me soup, and then put in my ear drops in my evil, tortuous ear while I laid in her warm, big bed. Just mum’s presence is enough to comfort me when I am needy, which happens to be a large portion of the time I’m conscious.

Oh, mum’s a doll.

I’ve run out of paint again, so I’m going to just do one print tonight, and simply gnaw on professor Adams arm when he casts his bug eyes on me through his translucent Gucci glasses and tells me I need to work harder. I need to really buckle down, I realize; the final’s due on Thursday. But Alas! I am tired and annoyed by a rebellious ear. So if you tell me to work harder I’ll bite your arm off.

I’m going to go play Simpsons road rage (best game ever) with Ricky and then go get the fingerprint of pain.

At 1:30 this morning I was woken by a sharp pain in my right ear, which prevented me from sleeping for the rest of the night.

The pain worsened during class today, which made physics even less bearable.

The doctor tells me I have Otitis Media.

Stupid ear.

The beautiful voice of a mezzo soprano washes over me, singing softly and sweetly Mozart’s Ave Maria as it filters through the speakers in front of me. This piece especially is so incredibly beautiful and soft, the singer is absolutely amazing. What miraculous notes enfold me at this moment! She sings with an edgy emotion that creates an eroded tension soothed by the fluid notes she sings.

I had a wonderful day today, it was wonderful to be with my family after mum and I forgot the disturbance of this morning. We had the missionaries over for dinner and had a wonderful evening.

I’m going to Cincinnati on Thursday (maybe Friday afternoon, depending solely upon whether my physics professor will let me take his exam a day early) to see my father’s parents, Mimi and Dada. I’m very excited.

Sleep well, dears. May you fly to the clouds and sweep gently into your reveries tonight.

Professor Rudolph-

I am a student in your Physics 2010 class, and I attend your lectures on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:30 AM. I simply wished to write you regarding your examination policy. This last weekend presented a family emergency to me, and I must fly to Cincinnati as soon as the week is over. It would be greatly appreciated if I could take the exam on Thursday, September 23, as opposed to Friday morning on the 24. I realize we are given a 'freebie' exam, but I was wondering if there was any way I could be granted an opportunity to take the exam a day early so as to improve my chances of getting a better grade in the class. If this is not possible, I understand completely the importance of policy but simply thought I would run it past you in order to be aware of my options in full.

Sincerely,
ivory

(Naturally I put real name, #, email, etc.)

What do you think? Will it work? Cross your fingers for me!

Mum and I are in a bit of a tiff (again). Last year I clearly expressed that I was not helping on the paper route; it’s ridiculous and I refuse to support it. They have to drive down to the paper depot, pick up the papers, stuff them, put them in the car, drive back up to our neighborhood and deliver. Let’s look at this logically, shall we? The depot is a good 3, 4 miles away, and while driving a car that gets 17 miles to the gallon they spend a quarter a day in gas, not including the rapid depreciation of the car due to the miles they’re piling on it. The family receives 6 dollars a day. 6 dollars! It takes 3 people an hour to do the route, and after gas they each make less than 2 dollars an hour.

My sleep is worth much, much more than 2 dollars an hour.

“It’s not about the money.” Jeff declared today at breakfast. It’s not? Oh, so it must be about the exalting elation one experiences while getting up at 5 AM to be underpaid. I understand that. If that’s your cup of tea, that’s just fine, just don’t get me involved.

Today mum came to me at some ungodly hour of the morn and shook me into consciousness. “We need help with the paper.” She said.

I rolled over and mumbled incoherently but defiantly into my pillow.

“Fine. But if you’re too tired to help us with the paper route, then I’m too tired to ever help you with your physics again.” With this she left the room.

What smashing logic! I can easily see how a paper route that is not taken out of financial necessity can be fairly compared to the pursuit of a higher education! It makes so much sense!

When I did wake up to the noise of the kitchen, I heard mum’s sharp tone from my bedroom.

“Is that for Rachael? Give me the phone, I know exactly what to say to them.”

“No, don’t invite her to breakfast, she doesn’t want to come.” Just to prove her wrong I slid out of bed and wobbled over to the table to scornfully fall into my chair.

“Jeff would you like a glass of milk? How about you, Mormor? Ricky?”

How can someone so old act so immature? Am I wrong in insisting to be left out of the paper route? I assisted last week and decided that it was rubbish that I didn’t want to dabble in; I see no reason in doing something so pointless.

So mum and I are in a tiff, and I’ve decided to go to Yale II today instead of Yale I with the fam. Ever since we moved I’ve attended both each week; I want to continue to support the Yale II young women but now also need to support Yale I because I’m in the boundaries. This seems like a small feat, but it’s not; Mormon Church is 3 hours long, for those of you who don’t know, and 6 hours in one day can be a bit much some weeks. So today I stayed home (though I’m going to attend a full 3 hours at 1:00), and I feel like such a sinner! It’s funny, but I feel so rebellious while I’m home alone, I don’t know why. It’s nice to have the home to myself, though.

Frustration is not conducive to decent or lucid writing, I’m afraid, so I apologize for such wretched material. Back in February I put much more time and thought into my blog then I do now, and what I produced was of some merit, I feel. I want to resume writing with some type of rationality, and I truly am endeavoring to do so. It is a laborious task, though, so it will take me awhile to climb back into my better habits. But hopefully I’ll start delivering something better, something deeper, and occasionally comical.

I can’t even end this entry fluidly. Ah, this is terrible! I shouldn’t post this but I need to publish the good and the bad; an accurate portrayal of my thoughts is much more important then flowery articulation, I suppose. So farewell, dearest reader, and do try to bear with me during this scarcity of brilliance. It will return to me shortly, I pray.

Last night I didn’t quite feel like going to bed, so I surfed a bit, read, and tried like mad to download Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow because it looks cute.

Around two o’ clock in the morning the bat entered the dining room in a dress and a wide rimmed hat.

“Where is everyone, did they already leave for church?” She croaked.

“Mormor, it’s two in the morning. Why are you awake?” I inquired.

“Oh, it is? Oh my…” With this she wobbled back into the hallway and out of my sight.

Oh my indeed.

It’s strange to think of companionship; I think the only thing that I’ve ever desired so fervently and yet simultaneously dreaded and feared to the point of aversion is God. There are times when I look and mum and Jeff, when I look at her past marriages and the other failed marriages that seem to obscure my mind, and I simply hate the idea. I loathe and hate and abhor the thought of tethering myself to an imperfect being. Not to say that I am perfect, quite the opposite; surely my flaws and insecurities block such a focal union. There are other times, however, when such a bond feels immensely correct, blissful and complete. I want to raise a family. I want to be a mother and a wife and even a grandmother, although that involves getting old and wrinkly. This topic is particularly divided for me.

Today mum and Jeff and I went to the Slavic festival. There, in the voluntary custody of the white tents and endless tables propping up a canopy of color and intrigue, mum and I stumbled upon a baby carriage. Not a stupid American stroller, but the trademark European carriage that makes the pains of labor a little less agonizing. How delicate it was! But beyond that, how flawless and beautiful and perfect is the being meant to inhabit it! I can barely fathom the joy of holding my own child, my little one. To share the exquisite challenge of parenthood with the man I love sounds superb.

But the aspect that makes this so beautiful is also what threatens me: the challenge. I doubt myself as to if I have the integrity or the ability to develop the maturity to make a marriage work. I can’t get along with people. Yes, mindless PR is simple for me, but actually interacting and communicating and loving someone boundlessly must be so hard.

So hard. I honestly don’t know it I could do it.

But at the same time I know that I can have any logical thing I want, as long as I am careful and work hard to deserve what I want. Thank heavens I don’t have to seriously think about this for another half-decade or so. Thank heavens I feel no pressure as of late (being 17 and all).

I don’t know. It scares me, yet enlivens me. This will definitely be a hardship for me, I know this much. It was for the bat, for mum, for every bleeding woman that seems to surround me. I see divorces left and right; failed marriages seem to be a theme in my family.

Like I stated above, how absolutely ripping that I don’t have to worry about this for a while.

I’ve accomplished quite a bit today, which pleases me. Today mum and I laid tile on the floor in the downstairs kitchen, and our self-cut mosaic looks absolutely smashing. I worked for 4 hours until mum, Jeff and I went to the slavic festival. The festival was amusing; I bought a beautiful doggey puppet that looks like an afghan hound, so naturally I named him Afi.

We then went shopping at market square, and as I was piling the little debbie snacks onto the register (4 boxes for a dollar, you see) I was surprise to see them reach my eye level when the counter only came up to my waist.

Maile’s homecoming is today, so I went over and curled her hair/ helped with the eye shadow/ freaked out with her about how she looked. She’s a very beautiful girl, and looked wonderful tonight. Too bad her date is hideous.

Only one thing is certain for the rest of the nigh: I need a shower and havn’t time to take one.

Bullocks. You can’t have it all, I suppose.

Oh, wait. It's working. Heh, sorry about that, blog. I didn't really want to eat you.

I wasn't hungry.

oh bugger! I came home to quickly change, etc, and go back to the studio and work. But no. I come home with one tiny desire: Change the picture on my profile. I change it- easy. But it won't change on my blog, which is what I was wanting to do. I'm sure I'm missing some button or another but I can't find it and I've flushed yet another hour down the moldy drain that blogger can sometimes be.

Argh. I'm going to eat you, blog! I'm going to eat you and then utter a negative comment about you. I'm going to eat you!!!! DIE!!!

I have an absolutely spectacular update for you all: I’m starting to understand physics. This is such a relief; my first couple of assignments I would sit down in front of my computer, look over a problem, and just start sobbing all over the keyboard. (There is very little exaggeration in this, which is rather sad, I know) But now it takes much more to drag me to tears, such as 3 minutes of investigating the problem, at the very least. My first exam is in one week, and since exams count for about 450% of our grade as in comparison to the pitiful 8% that homework accounts for, comprehension is extremely important. But I’m starting to understand; I’m feeling a wee bit less lost every time I look at physics. My newfound ability almost compensates for the fact that I’m forced to use a mac here in the library (shudder).

Well, the weekend is here at last *heaves a staggering sigh of relief*

Tonight I go home, eat, and watch a movie with mum. I shall have to remind myself in some fashion:

NO THINKING ALLOWED

But right now I’m going to go home, grab some supplies for the studio then come back to work a bit more on the fingerprint of perdition, and then go work out a tad at the field house.

Wow. Macs are even more stupid than I thought. It won’t let me paste into blogger from word (which has nothing to do with my stupidity, I promise) so I’m going to have to email it to myself and send it from home. Gag me!

 

 

*Yawn*

I’m ever so tired. Physics is hard, but I’ll get it down if I labor over the text enough.

Went to special needs today- it was absolutely fabulous.

Ralph Lauren Spring 2005 show is really, really, really cute.

That’s about all the news for today, I’m afraid. Write more tomorrow.

hello? 

What I do instead of physics: figure out our DXG camera 

The Grands are here for a brief visit. Vernon (known better to my siblings and me as Morfar) and his wife Glenda (note: Glenda is the bat’s successor, she married my grandfather probably a decade after the bat and Vernon went their separate but equally odd ways.) They are very education oriented, very concerned with becoming a learned individual. To assist us in this journey, they decided to take us to the Titanic exhibit downtown.

I didn’t really want to go; watching my fellow capitalists and opportunists milk an ancient travesty for every cent it’s worth isn’t something I’m going to condemn, but I’m not going to jump in line to join the whole ‘come get robbed blind by a maudlin, over dramatic display that’s dwarfed by our gift shop, which is then in turn dwarfed by the prices of the items in our colossal gift shop’ thing, however intrigued (or completely apathetic/disinterested) I am.

But whatever. Free food is a guarantee for afterwards, and who knows? I might snag some useless but shiny knickknack from the colossal gift shop, and I know that I love shiny objects…

The exhibit was actually very well-produced, though the fact that the interest in it would be close to nonexistent had it never been for Monsieur DiCaprio bugged me a bit. It was an interesting look into the beginning of the 20th century in this side of the world. There were parts of it that I loved, mainly the recreation of the separate rooms of the different classes and artifacts from the ship. What I loved the most, however, was the guest book. I don’t think I’ve ever been as tickled by pettiness as I was while I read.

“Thank you so much for this life-altering experience and allowing me to relive this sad, sad tale…”

“I never realized how much life was lost, I’m so glad my character lived” (They handed us boarding passes with the name and info of actual passengers on the Titanic, which was really cool. In the end you find out whether or not you lived. My woman rocked.)

“What a beautiful chance to explore this terrible, terrible tragedy. I am so thankful to be able to come through this for the third time!”

I picked up a pen, licked my lips, and began to write.

As I browsed through the gift shop I was amazed at how a boat sinking could bring in such loot. Nostalgia menus, fake jewelry, posters, books upon books upon books, soap dishes with a cruiser and iceberg floating in it, everything. These people must be ingenious.

“Oh my heavens, did you see that silly guestbook?” Mum muttered behind me while inspecting a bar of ‘titanic’ chocolate “on sale” for $4.95.

“Yeah,” I responded. “Did you write anything in it?”

“Ugh. No. You should have seen what people actually wrote in there! ‘My character was young and beautiful and only 25, and she died. How shocked I am to see how many ugly survivors were plucked from the wreckage when my upper-class flower withered and ruined her clothes in the freezing water….’”

I gasped

“I know.” My mother uttered in response. “Can you believe that someone wrote that nonsense?”

“Well of course I can believe it, mum,” I said. “What horrifies me is your failure to recognize and identify my finesse, my unique and novel voice bursting through the mawkish pages of that tribble, my insight and striking world view…”

“I could have guessed. How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea. I hope you realize how offended I am.” I defensively declared.

“Something tells me I never will.” She asserted.

It took the Grands two hours to meander through the exhibition that took me 30 minutes. So I decided to meander through the much more applicable exhibition in the mall windows next door. I found lovely artifacts there, the finest specimens of brown footwear available. Don’t even get me started on the handbags!

Speaking of accessories: Gucci has died. Died. Gucci has kicked the bucket. What a sad demise it is! John Ray replaced Tom Ford and murdered the fashion house. Please, if we could have a moment of silence…

Yes, too much of her success was due to the content in her life, not the mouth used to narrate. Yes, she was over celebrated and because of this came off as a bit haughty in the end, but still I think I speak for many when I say that we’re sad to see her go.

Belle will no longer delight us with her hillarious stories. It’s odd; her blog was the first I read, the one that warmed me up to the web blog fancy-to-do. And now she’s gone, and has published a book that I’m considering reading.

I never mentioned or supported her on my blog because there was enough gala and laud without my criticism/ analysis / guffawing at such marvelous wit. But now as I watch the curtain drop I can’t help but rise and applaud.

Belle, darling, you were fabulous, even to a taste like mine unaccustomed to hints of vulgarity. And thank you, by the way, for actually updating your blog. (Yes, I’m looking at you useless write-once-every-full-moon slackers.)

Last night I painted until I realized how I despised what I was creating. I scribbled in the rest of the print and came to school 2 hours early to do another print. The edges explode, the tip of the fingerprint constricts and stands defiantly in resistance. It was very, very abstract.

Many people liked the print. Many people commented, one came up after to class to compliment, yet my eyes still narrow and my lips purse to remember what the professor said:

“Conceptually, yes, but literally, no.”

Yeah, so here’s the great thing about me: I write this entry full of fervor and determination to toil and labor and sweat myself to success, and then my play list falls upon a song that was played in Dior’s RTW Spring 2004, and it dawns on me:

OMG OMG OMG. Spring 2005 Ready to Wear has begun. OMG. OMG. Herrera. Posen. Wang. It’s out. The fabrics and the beat and the beauty have stormed the runway and I have yet to see it. I must check it out, as in right now.

OMG.

Eat me, you stupid fingerprint...

Close to 11:00 PM here, and I have about 2 ½ hours to go on my project. I haven’t glanced at my physics that’s due tomorrow at midnight, and will only complete 3 prints by tomorrow while I was aiming for 4. I’m not necessarily behind; everything, even school work, is relative and in relation to the study habits of many of my peers I’m right on top of things. I’ve felt this before, however, blogging while hours of pressing homework dangerously sits in silence behind me, looming over my shadow.

I promised myself high school is over. I am not going to continue to skim by in school now that I have academic opportunities to take advantage of (or, in my case as of late [tonight] not taking advantage of them.) I’m not paying for college; I have absolutely no right whatsoever to once again acquiesce to the luscious appeal of instant gratification, especially when I’m getting by on daddy’s wallet.

This is hard though, especially when the assignment one is struggling to devote time to has no solution, no instructions, and no direction but the very vaguest. Stupid fingerprint.

Today Elisse gave me a ride to the studio and I worked, but not really. One must take advantage of witty repartee when such a delight is presented to him or her, and who am I to turn this down when a shady spot atop green grass (increasingly rare in Utah) is offered along with it? We had a wonderful conversation (or 3) that was helpful and reassuring, I doff my hat to her. So I decided that I would pack up my things and work tonight. The rest of my classmates are probably awake with me, strained with me, and probably running out of that daft black gouache paint, too.

I wouldn’t let daddy pay my tuition junior year even if he offered. At that time I would (hopefully) be in the architectural program, which would prohibit me from working at that time. (Well, since you only spend 60 hours at the studio a week while in the program, so I suppose you could work too, but just not sleep, brush hair, or hum throughout the duration of school.) And I don’t want to work now. So I must get a scholarship.

This isn’t far fetched or fallacious. I am bright. A full ride to a decent school isn’t implausible in any sense, it’s simply a matter of work. The desire to not work will be my downfall, if I do indeed fall. But I’m not going to think about that, because it scares me into not working. ;)

Well, fingerprints don’t paint themselves, and solutions that aren’t really there can’t be found on their own, you know! I must leave you now, and I leave you with the promise that if I do indeed return during an ungodly hour in order to escape my work (I consider myself much too realistic and cynical to guarantee that this will never again be the case; I know fully well that it will be) that it will be a rare occurrence indeed. My desire to create and become spectacular is too great to let myself be sloppy. And another thing: I’m arrogant as well, so success isn’t exactly an option, but my chosen path.

Elisse, darling, you feel the same way. Let’s just do our freaking work and rock this pathetic nation.

King Louis, of the Yale I Ward in Salt Lake City, Utah. 

My new ward is much different from my old, although we moved 2 streets over and probably less than 500 feet. The houses, for the most part, are smaller and less expensive, though still quite apt to fetch a nice price for any building. As a result of this there are more large families and a couple newlyweds. One member of my ward has intrigued me, absolutely tickling me to the point of utmost delight. His name is Leonard.

But not to me, you see. To me his name deserves a title, his air and manner stand in need of trumpets and of lace and of a derby handle-silver plated cane. I will never call him Leonard. What a rubbish name! I shall call him Louis XIV. He looks just like him, he does; his long, dark hair falls in curls down the sides of his face from a straight middle part, his nose slides down his long face in the exact same manner. His lips sit dismally above his piercing chin in an expression of undeviating disdain, although occasionally the corners of his dainty mouth pull slightly as if 2 hooks had mysteriously wedged themselves between the lips and were fluidly drawing them upward into a countenance of mocking amusement and intrigue. He has the very tone and natural opulence of a king, and one king in particular: King Louis the XIV of France.

The haughtiness is in no need to be supported by the rich furs or heels of Louis, although he wears a silk vest suit without the jacket to church. He wears converse all-star shoes with the suit, which would devastate any individual dressing to pose. It’s in the way he holds his head and curly tresses, the way he stands and sits and glowers.

Today he was brought into Sunday school by an older man. Apparently our majesty is fond of missing class. In came the aged man, with a full beard and large stature, his arm through the king’s, both heads held high.

Louis was being escorted to class.

Oh, how it added to the likeness already formed in my mind! How he floated forward with his attendant at his side! How he was delivered, how he debonairly descended into the chair, how blasé his stare remained!

“Leonard does not have permission to go to the bathroom, get a drink, or to leave this classroom.” With this the bearded gentleman left the room after softly shutting the door.

Louis simply glanced up at now shut door without moving his head, waited a moment, then rose. He turned to the class, as if bidding adieu with a royal flutter of the hand, preparing to leave amidst the trumpets and the tambourines and the flourish of the majestic procession. He silently turned, smoothly opened the door effortlessly with his white hands, and departed, superciliously prancing out of the humdrum room.

How magnificent! How superlative and glorious! How flawlessly, how absolutely and completely Louis!

limewire rocks my freaking world.

It’s such a shame; every day wonderful, inspiring, wretched, funny, odd and interesting things happen to me or are witnessed by me, but my energy to write has been usurped by a new and busy schedule. After school, painting, grocery shopping, work, grouting, and physics it’s midnight and the day has flown past me and left me too weak to recount it all. Such interesting things happened today, but it would take paragraph upon paragraph and hour upon hour to narrate my day, and I haven’t the resources.

Pity. What a bleeding pity.

College is silly. Completely necessary, fun at times, a luxury, but silly all the same. No college student can deny this. I suppose that I don’t expect things that I (or my daddy) pay a lot of money for to give me a moderate amount of grief. Grief, to put it plainly, is not generally congenial.

Not that I’m unhappy, in any sense. I’m so thrilled to be so satisfied in my educational environment, I’m ecstatic and excited and anxious. It’s absolutely maddening to have 15 hours of work a week for one class. My design class is time consuming, to say the least, hence the reason I am taking a weak 10 credit hours.

Aha, Aha! Justification, darling, justification! It makes me happy! Weeeee!!!

But it does justify the credit hours. I have to have a new print, sometimes two, every time I go to class (twice a week). Prints take me anywhere from 4.5- 7 hours, depending. So I’ve spent many an hour in that abject studio of perdition.

Yawn. I’m going to bed. Bye, my darlings.

Due to the continental drift, the North American and European continents are drifting apart at an average speed of about 3.0 cm per year. At this speed, how long (in years) will it take for them to drift apart by another 1500 m (a little less than a mile)? Give answer in km.

Easy. Convert 3 cm to m (divide by 100 and therefore get 0.03) Divide 1500 by 0.03 (which gives you 50,000) right?

Wrong. I don't know how, nor do I know why, but apparently it's wrong. 50,000 yrs. at 3 cm a year gives you 1500m.

I know. The entire world has gone completely mad.

How Ricky and I communicate online:

ivory says:
you smell, yo

Rick says:
yo yo yO (begins a rap song)

ivory says:
" so I grabbed the money and my woman

ivory says:
went to mexico to hit the gringos in a drive by

ivory says:
been in the pen for 8 years runnin

ivory says:
now I'm hitting down the honkies in the fly by

ivory says:
bum bum bum bum

Rick says:
nanaaaaaaaa

ivory says:
yeah

Rick says:
then i went to lasvegas

ivory says:
eayh

ivory says:
vegas vegas baby

ivory says:
what

ivory says:
what

ivory says:
uh

Rick says:
they said me be cheatin’

ivory says:
uh

Rick says:
they said the never even herd of the 13 of diamonds

Rick says:
what kind of crack were they smoking yo

ivory says:
uh

ivory says:
uh

ivory says:
sing it, brothuh

I walk into my room after struggling with physics to find a bag of peanut butter m&ms, which I had told the bat were the best candy line on the market a day before.

The woman's quirky as cher version blonde.0, but she can be adorable.

The spoils of war (in order of time purchased):

Gap:

• 2 flutter skirts (black, khaki) Regularly 25.99 ea. Purchased for 14.99 ea
• Tropical Mango body lotion Regularly 7.99. Purchased for 5.09
  

Old Navy:

• Leather belt Purchased for 15.99
  
• Chocolate scoop neck sweater Regularly 24.99 Purchased for 10.99
  

Fossil

• Arkitekt duo face watch Regularly 65.00 Purchased for 20.00
  
• Arkitekt Alligator strap watch Regularly 85.00 Purchased for 20.00
  

Wilson's Leather

• Shirt-Collar Lamb Scuba Jacket Regularly 300.00 Purchased for 52.99
  

spent: 139.56 saved: 411.39

Quake before the master o' shopping, ye evil devils of retail! Full price will never seize me, so get thee hence, Satan! Aha! Aha! I so win!

How extraordinary to feel productive once again! What satisfaction can be found in accomplishment! I’ve decided to aim for a good school, an exquisite school. I don’t think that my efforts are truly work, nor do I find arid labor in what I am required to do. I enjoy what I do, thoroughly and sincerely.

Blunt criticism about my work doesn’t batter, bruise, or deter me nearly as much as I thought it would. It is painful to look back at five hours’ work the next day and question what you were thinking and what illicit drugs you were under the influence of at that time. It is unpleasant to find what was once a novel, brilliant idea to be simply and utterly asinine. The sting of criticism, however, is what distinguishes the ideas of an individual.

How exciting.