Well, here I am again. In bed, alone, with cold feet. Actually, I'm not alone: I have David Attenborough's biography Life on Air, a stuffed Kiwi bird named Boris and a roll of toilet paper in bed with me.
What do these three items have in common? Well, that's an interesting story...
Years and years ago, my mother read Attenborough's book and loved it. She recently (as in a few months ago) recommended it to me as a good read and I have been trying to find it in either a book shop or at one of the libraries. On my last trip into town I found it, and have been dutifully working my way through it. I've learned a lot from Attenborough's programmes on the BBC; ours is definitely a learning-oriented household. I may have never seen a Spongebob marathon, but I can quote Walking with Dinosaurs word-for-word. (And Lord of the Rings, but shhhh.)
Boris the Kiwi bird was a gift from my boyfriend for my last birthday. His real name (the toy, not my boyfriend) is Boris the Perv, because...well...he's pervy. We had a talk about this, and he has since reconciled himself to life at the bottom of the bed/on the floor. I usually manage to rescue him, but not always. I am not thrilled when I wake up to a bird beak wedged between my boobs. Or legs. Awkward...
The toilet paper is in my bed because I have a cold. Not because I'm a bed-wetter, or have a portaloo in my bureau or whatever. I ran out of tissues earlier today and was too tired and lazy to walk to the store to replace them. (Although I did walk out of my required film screening, and I did walk to the corner dairy for sustenance). I hate having colds. I never look as sick as I feel, so I end up schlupping around like a zombie who looks like a normal, if slightly unfocused, human being. Arghh. I also sound like Yoda because the goop in my head (yes, that IS a technical term, thanks) makes me mix up my words. Thank God I don't have any presentations; it's always fun to explain to the class - with a straight face - why you sound like the offspring of Yoda and Chewbacca.
I promised the Beloved Boyfriend that I would go to bed early. And I meant to, honest. But, well, I had a little freak-out regarding my History paper (already turned in) and my half-finished Anthro and Film papers, due next week. Sigh.
Goodnight. Or rather, goobnit.
WolfGrrl
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insanity. Show all posts
Monday, May 13, 2013
Monday, December 10, 2012
Twenty-Five Days
Oh dear God, I have twenty-five days before I leave the country. Twenty-five days to get my head wrapped around the fact that I will be living overseas for six months. On my own. Overseas. Did I mention that I'll be on my own?
Oh, dear God.
I'm watching the Chronicles of Narnia and lusting after the beautiful landscape and the wonderful people of New Zealand. Whatever niggling urge had me clicking on the link, back in March, that said 'University of Otago, New Zealand' is a blessed urge.
In twenty-five days (and some number of hours) I will be flying out from Charlotte across the country - on my own - and then flying over the Pacific - on my own. No safety net, no backups, no one there to calm me down when I can't remember my gate and flip out. (OK, so my parents will be standing by the phone, or in my mother's case, hovering, but still. I have the on the ground illusion of independence.)
Do you have any idea how phenomenal and terrifying this is? I'm a girl who went to school ten minutes from my parents' house; who has flown by herself ONCE, and that only a year and a bit ago. I have no doubts (I cannot doubt) that I'll be fine once I get going. It's just that waiting and counting down the days might kill me first.
I know that once I'm there I'll be homesick and tired and lonely (especially after my boyfriend leaves and I have to go to school in a new country, alone). I fully expect this experience to drive my personal growth through the roof. I can't wait to hike, swim, run, fly, dance, laugh, cry, sneeze, and hopefully not freeze on another continent. ANOTHER CONTINENT. I hyperventilate just thinking about it.
Plane tickets around the world are not cheap, people. I can't screw this up. My safety net takes a minimum of seventy two hours to reach me, not counting delays and domestic flight times. Obviously, I have my darling love and his family, but should I lose a limb shark tubing, or fall off a cliff or get concussed and lose my memory, I'll want my family with me. Walking your fingers from the East Coast of the United States to the little green islands of New Zealand takes some time. Flying takes more time.
I guess that's why my study abroad contract has that little clause stipulating 'repatriation of remains.' Yucky, but necessary.
Whatever. I will be bold, I will be daring. I will rock this six month adventure and come back wanting to go again, and again, and again.
And the best part of it all?
I can go. Again and again and again.
Because I can do everything I want to, damn it. (Pardon my French.)
WolfGrrl
Oh, dear God.
I'm watching the Chronicles of Narnia and lusting after the beautiful landscape and the wonderful people of New Zealand. Whatever niggling urge had me clicking on the link, back in March, that said 'University of Otago, New Zealand' is a blessed urge.
In twenty-five days (and some number of hours) I will be flying out from Charlotte across the country - on my own - and then flying over the Pacific - on my own. No safety net, no backups, no one there to calm me down when I can't remember my gate and flip out. (OK, so my parents will be standing by the phone, or in my mother's case, hovering, but still. I have the on the ground illusion of independence.)
Do you have any idea how phenomenal and terrifying this is? I'm a girl who went to school ten minutes from my parents' house; who has flown by herself ONCE, and that only a year and a bit ago. I have no doubts (I cannot doubt) that I'll be fine once I get going. It's just that waiting and counting down the days might kill me first.
I know that once I'm there I'll be homesick and tired and lonely (especially after my boyfriend leaves and I have to go to school in a new country, alone). I fully expect this experience to drive my personal growth through the roof. I can't wait to hike, swim, run, fly, dance, laugh, cry, sneeze, and hopefully not freeze on another continent. ANOTHER CONTINENT. I hyperventilate just thinking about it.
Plane tickets around the world are not cheap, people. I can't screw this up. My safety net takes a minimum of seventy two hours to reach me, not counting delays and domestic flight times. Obviously, I have my darling love and his family, but should I lose a limb shark tubing, or fall off a cliff or get concussed and lose my memory, I'll want my family with me. Walking your fingers from the East Coast of the United States to the little green islands of New Zealand takes some time. Flying takes more time.
I guess that's why my study abroad contract has that little clause stipulating 'repatriation of remains.' Yucky, but necessary.
Whatever. I will be bold, I will be daring. I will rock this six month adventure and come back wanting to go again, and again, and again.
And the best part of it all?
I can go. Again and again and again.
Because I can do everything I want to, damn it. (Pardon my French.)
WolfGrrl
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Why I Love Cats
Since 'Why I Hate Raisins' was such a success.
I have a confession to make.
I love cats.
Our current cat had the misfortune of being incorrectly named for a female; despite reverting to the proper sex, he remains 'Bella' to the household (and occasionally 'It' when we become frustrated with pronouns).
As I write this post, the misnamed he-cat is sitting on his cat tower by the window chewing off his toe claws. He is very fastidious about maintaining his weaponry, which include an enormous set of fangs, lethal talons and a presicent presence. This is a cat that hunts his humans...when he's in the mood.
I am in love with this cat, like the rest of the household. But his presence has had the interesting effect of making me more appreciative of cats in general. I have always been (due to my quiet, stationary nature) the seat of choice for Cats That Hate Humans. Don't ask me to explain the allure - I guess, since I leave them alone they choose not to leave me alone.
Bella has produced in me an unholy desire to be chosen by a cat. Perhaps it is because he's sometimes more doglike than catlike; what other cat sits like a meerkat when his nose is telling him something interesting? What other cat begs for food no matter how recently he's been fed? What other cat destroys things by chewing them apart, greets his humans upon their return and chases balls, paintbrushes, rubber ducks, and everything else in the house?
Having finished with his toe maintenance, Bella-cat is now having a bath. His penchent for cleanliness led to me christening him The Presence, because every time you touch him he washes himself - to remove human germs.
This cat also chases his tail. Family members who live here know this, but for those of you who don't, Bella-cat will sometimes see his tail as new and exciting (or a threat) and proceed to try and eat it. This involves much rolling around in the middle of various full-sized beds, feet in his mouth and body contorting like he belongs in Cirque du Soleil.
It's never dull in this house. Between the dog chasing the cat away from my mother, my father and sister tormenting the cat, and various things getting eaten/destroyed/lost we no longer claim to be a quiet family.
WolfGrrl
I have a confession to make.
I love cats.
Our current cat had the misfortune of being incorrectly named for a female; despite reverting to the proper sex, he remains 'Bella' to the household (and occasionally 'It' when we become frustrated with pronouns).
As I write this post, the misnamed he-cat is sitting on his cat tower by the window chewing off his toe claws. He is very fastidious about maintaining his weaponry, which include an enormous set of fangs, lethal talons and a presicent presence. This is a cat that hunts his humans...when he's in the mood.
I am in love with this cat, like the rest of the household. But his presence has had the interesting effect of making me more appreciative of cats in general. I have always been (due to my quiet, stationary nature) the seat of choice for Cats That Hate Humans. Don't ask me to explain the allure - I guess, since I leave them alone they choose not to leave me alone.
Bella has produced in me an unholy desire to be chosen by a cat. Perhaps it is because he's sometimes more doglike than catlike; what other cat sits like a meerkat when his nose is telling him something interesting? What other cat begs for food no matter how recently he's been fed? What other cat destroys things by chewing them apart, greets his humans upon their return and chases balls, paintbrushes, rubber ducks, and everything else in the house?
Having finished with his toe maintenance, Bella-cat is now having a bath. His penchent for cleanliness led to me christening him The Presence, because every time you touch him he washes himself - to remove human germs.
This cat also chases his tail. Family members who live here know this, but for those of you who don't, Bella-cat will sometimes see his tail as new and exciting (or a threat) and proceed to try and eat it. This involves much rolling around in the middle of various full-sized beds, feet in his mouth and body contorting like he belongs in Cirque du Soleil.
It's never dull in this house. Between the dog chasing the cat away from my mother, my father and sister tormenting the cat, and various things getting eaten/destroyed/lost we no longer claim to be a quiet family.
WolfGrrl
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Incubating Death
My RA just popped in looking for the source of a loud and suspicious noise. It wasn't emanating from my room, but as she was leaving she noticed the sign I'd posted on the door.
"What does that mean, incubating death?" she asked, worried and a bit confused.
"Oh, I put that up because I'm sick," I replied, trying to achieve a matter-of-fact tone that didn't seem to work.
"Haha, overdramatic much?"
I shrugged. For the last two days, when I've been awake I've pretty much felt as though I'm a walking corpse. Perhaps it is overdramatic; then again, I normally don't sleep fifteen out of every twenty-four hours.
Obviously, I have neither plague nor meningitis. I have a cold. Colds are the most irritating illness to have because you feel like crap and get no sympathy from the world; it's not as interesting as saying "I have a poisoned spleen," or "My leg is haunted." I chose to highlight the drama of my misery and "incubate death."
According to one of my friends, I'm not allowed to incubate death. My boyfriend took the more succinct route:
"If you die, I'll have no one to visit and will have flown thirty hours for no reason."
That put me in my place.
WolfGrrl
"What does that mean, incubating death?" she asked, worried and a bit confused.
"Oh, I put that up because I'm sick," I replied, trying to achieve a matter-of-fact tone that didn't seem to work.
"Haha, overdramatic much?"
I shrugged. For the last two days, when I've been awake I've pretty much felt as though I'm a walking corpse. Perhaps it is overdramatic; then again, I normally don't sleep fifteen out of every twenty-four hours.
Obviously, I have neither plague nor meningitis. I have a cold. Colds are the most irritating illness to have because you feel like crap and get no sympathy from the world; it's not as interesting as saying "I have a poisoned spleen," or "My leg is haunted." I chose to highlight the drama of my misery and "incubate death."
According to one of my friends, I'm not allowed to incubate death. My boyfriend took the more succinct route:
"If you die, I'll have no one to visit and will have flown thirty hours for no reason."
That put me in my place.
WolfGrrl
Monday, April 23, 2012
Sugahhhhhr
OK, I wish that all my websites would not randomly update themselves. I get used to using one method, only to find that (and Facebook is notorious for this) everything has changed overnight. My usual method of dealing with this is to pretend it hasn't happened and not do anything for a week or so; this is the standard amount of time it takes my brain to adjust.
I didn't intend to begin today's post with a mini-rant about technology and my issues with it, so I'll apologize for that. I think I'll dedicate this post to delicious foods and extreme laziness. Yup, that sounds about right.
Since coming to college I've had any number of encounters with delicious new foods. Bread pudding, Starbucks coffee cake, scones (mmmmmmm), chocolate-covered-anything-salty, granola, Luna bars and yogurt and granola parfaits. I don't count salad in this, since I've been a fan of salads for the past three or four years. My family gets very tired of this when we go out to eat, hrmmm.
I love scones. I had to restrict myself to two scones a week, because it seems extravagent to pay $2.60 a scone five days a week. On the plus side, I eat one of these mouth-watering suckers and I'm set for the next seven hours or so. Did I ever say I was a healthy eater? Ummm, no. But I enjoy myself, and that's what counts, right?
The scones sold on campus are the size of my head (not kidding) and so yummy I think I could eat them for eternity. Just writing about it makes me want to leave my computer in the library and go running for the coffee shop ASAP. Luscious soft carbs covered in a crust of sugar and sprinkled with blueberries or chocolate chips....gah. This is ridiculous.
Many of you know (or should know) that I am a lazy person at heart. I put up a good front, but I am someone who lies in bed at night and debates climbing out of my warm coccoon because I have to pee. I am someone who wishes for a Time-Turner (see a previous post) or at least a magic wand that would let me turn off the light from across the room. I am super lazy, despite my love of walking (in the appropriate weather) and exercise (never in public).
What happens when you put a lazy, scone-loving Teacup Human on some antidepressants? Wonderful things, people, truly wonderful things. For example, I write you incoherant blog posts to avoid finishing my German homework.
Ja, ich spreche Deutsch aber der Klasse ist nicht so interessant jetzt.
Right, screw this. I want a scone.
Orf I go,
WolfGrrl
I didn't intend to begin today's post with a mini-rant about technology and my issues with it, so I'll apologize for that. I think I'll dedicate this post to delicious foods and extreme laziness. Yup, that sounds about right.
Since coming to college I've had any number of encounters with delicious new foods. Bread pudding, Starbucks coffee cake, scones (mmmmmmm), chocolate-covered-anything-salty, granola, Luna bars and yogurt and granola parfaits. I don't count salad in this, since I've been a fan of salads for the past three or four years. My family gets very tired of this when we go out to eat, hrmmm.
I love scones. I had to restrict myself to two scones a week, because it seems extravagent to pay $2.60 a scone five days a week. On the plus side, I eat one of these mouth-watering suckers and I'm set for the next seven hours or so. Did I ever say I was a healthy eater? Ummm, no. But I enjoy myself, and that's what counts, right?
The scones sold on campus are the size of my head (not kidding) and so yummy I think I could eat them for eternity. Just writing about it makes me want to leave my computer in the library and go running for the coffee shop ASAP. Luscious soft carbs covered in a crust of sugar and sprinkled with blueberries or chocolate chips....gah. This is ridiculous.
Many of you know (or should know) that I am a lazy person at heart. I put up a good front, but I am someone who lies in bed at night and debates climbing out of my warm coccoon because I have to pee. I am someone who wishes for a Time-Turner (see a previous post) or at least a magic wand that would let me turn off the light from across the room. I am super lazy, despite my love of walking (in the appropriate weather) and exercise (never in public).
What happens when you put a lazy, scone-loving Teacup Human on some antidepressants? Wonderful things, people, truly wonderful things. For example, I write you incoherant blog posts to avoid finishing my German homework.
Ja, ich spreche Deutsch aber der Klasse ist nicht so interessant jetzt.
Right, screw this. I want a scone.
Orf I go,
WolfGrrl
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
EMS
Exhaustion Meets Stress. It should be a musical. Or a horror show. Or a diagnosable condition.
Geez.
I'm too tired for this.
I will post again when exams are finished and I've moved back home and slept for a year. Maybe in 2012.
WolfGrrl
Geez.
I'm too tired for this.
I will post again when exams are finished and I've moved back home and slept for a year. Maybe in 2012.
WolfGrrl
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