Saturday, December 10, 2011

We all really did get good marks, we just thought we could have done better.

E-mail written to my friends from my course after we all received our final projects in the mail, comments attached, many of which were disheartening. 

Dear friends,

So, tonight I was going through old papers, trying desperately to find my original acceptance letter to Brookes, which I need to extend my visa (what the helllll?), and I found something interesting.

It's this paper Jim gave us in the beginning of the course, or whenever (I really can't remember), that we were supposed to fill out and put in a brown envelope with our name on it, which he also gave us, to be returned to us at the end of the course, which he forgot he gave us because I still had my envelope, and which everyone forgot to do anyway (now that I have an MA in writing, I'm allowed to write run on sentences). However, being the overachiever that I am, I of course did it and sealed the envelope and still have it today.

The paper was titled, "What I daydream about when I daydream about writing." I suspect we got this paper shortly after reading “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” the title of which Murakami stole from Raymond Carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love." Anyway, the first line of the paper says, "You are here because you want to be a Writer (with a capital W). But what does that mean?" The rest of the paper has a list of questions about a daydream we are being forced to have about having a conversation with someone in which we tell them we are a Writer and they react and you feel something.

I got really excited when I found this. "This may just be the most revelatory document you will ever fill in," says the paper, and, not remembering what I wrote, I believed it.  So I excitedly ripped open my envelope and read what I wrote, and almost threw it away in embarrassment. 

It was so awful. Like, the worst thing I've ever written. Its self deprecating (surprise surprise: even in my daydreams I put myself down), clunky writing and not in any way creative. I am not about to type it up for your reading pleasure, so don't get too excited. That was the original intention of this e-mail; I thought I'd type it up and give us all a good laugh, but it's too bad for even that. It is quite possibly the worst thing I've ever written. It's a little story about me in an unspecified moment in the future, sitting on Easter Island and telling some girl my age that I'm a writer, and about how I still feel like an imposter saying that, even though at this point in my daydream, I'm a published YA novelist who does freelance travel writing on the side.

 "When I tell people I'm a writer, I still feel like a child telling their parents that they are going to be an astronaut when they grow up, or better yet, a super hero with the power of flight. When I say to someone that I'm a writer, I feel like, in their heads they are thinking- sure she is. I've never heard of her, can't be all that good anyway." ~Maria C. Goodson, 2011

Not cool. The rest of the story goes on to revel that the girl I'm talking to is using her boyfriend for his money and wanted to escape him, so we decide that she can be my assistant, because who wouldn't want a total stranger to be their assistant? So she breaks up with her BF and travels around the world with me and we become fast friends. I write a book called "the Writer's sidekick" about our adventures and it sells millions. The last line is so cheesy I might actually rip it up so it never sees the light of day.

However, in a way, this was the most revelatory document I have ever filled in. Because, no matter how disappointed we all are in our marks on the final projects (although we all actually did really good and should probably slap our expectations across the face), I for one know I’m at least better now than I was when I wrote that “daydream.” So, I think I’ll keep it.

I hope everyone has a fun filled weekend (Happy Birthday Tom),

Love, Maria  XOXOXOXO


Thursday, November 24, 2011

Saturday, November 19, 2011

One more thing.

My friends are weird.
One more tip for NaNoWriMo, as if you should listen to me. I'm at 27k and should be at 31k by the end of the day. So not happening. But somehow, some way, I will finish. And I will beat Nicole. I couldn't help it, we're totally racing again. It's just more fun that way.

Anyway, so my last tip (for now), is as follows:


Get dressed- It might sound silly, but it's an essential part of your day. For me anyway. If your anything like me, and have nothing to do all day but sit at home and write, take five seconds out of your day to actually dress for said day. Don't sit around all day in your PJs, as nice as that sounds. I find that when I do this, it makes me feel like I haven't actually done anything all day, even when I've written like 3,000 words, applied for two jobs, gone grocery shopping, and cleaned my room. This is probably a personal preference. I'm sure people who work 9-5 all week long look forward spending their entire weekend in the same moose print PJ bottoms, over-sized college hoodie and cookie monster slippers, and that's fair enough. But, if you are in life limbo like myself (and most people my age, penniless and fresh out of higher education) and everyday is a weekend, get dressed. This will make writing seem more like your job, which it should be if your serious about it, and less like a lazy day putting one word after another, where you don't see the light of day (my curtains are too cool to ever open) and only leave your bedroom to feed yourself, if that. Even if you are just putting on your baggiest, most comfortable pair of jeans (because comfort is key, even if you are dressed. Don't wear your going-out, super, extra skinny jeans that suck you way in and make you feel like a million bucks, because I assure you, they won't feel that way sitting at a desk alone all day. Not that I own jeans like that, but I have a good imagination) and changing out of one oversize t-shirt into another, the small act of wearing something you didn't sleep in will make your day feel far more accomplished.

Moving on. But not too far. I decided the other day that I want to write Two Truths and a Lie haikus. You know, that game where you tell two true things about yourself and then one lie, and your friends have to guess which is the lie. It's sort of a hard game to play, and you need to be fairly creative to make your lies convincing, and you can't play with people who know everything about you or it won't work. So anyway, I wrote one, here it is:

Celeb Encounters

Extra on West Wing. 
Poured a beer for Chris Cooley.
In podcast with Ron.

Which is the lie?? Mom, you can't play, you know too much. It's also good if the three things all sort of have a theme, like Celebs, places you've been, things you've done. Like, I can say I kissed a boy in Virginia, I kissed a boy in Oxford, and I kissed a boy in Istanbul. Which is the lie??? It's a fun game. 

OK, back to writing. Ciao, bella.

~Maria

Friday, November 11, 2011

Lots of things on fire.

Rob's birthday cake, made, with love, by Basia. Not only visually stunning,  but probably the best cake I've ever tasted.

This looks better small. Super blurry Jame and I.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November.

Zombies.

Tonight, Rose and I sculpted puppet heads out of polystyrene blocks in a room next to where Phillip Selway (drummer from Radiohead) was playing a charity concert, and listened to him through the wall. This is why I love Oxford; it's just so random.

Oh yeah, and Johnny Depp was in Oxford on Saturday. I didn't see him, it was all very hush hush, but still, that's probably the closest I'll ever get to him. 

As I've probably mentioned, the reason for our sculpting of puppet heads is that Rose and I are taking a 6 month puppetry course at the theater where she works, the Pegasus Theater.  Saying that our puppetry class is RAD would be an understatement. For one thing, the title of the course is Dead or Alive Puppets. That alone tells you it's going to be amazing. The teacher is fantastic and really passionate about puppets, referring to them as magic more than once in our first class last week. The class is mostly about movement. The first  was all about watching how we walk, and the position of every part of your body, where your weight is distributed. Once we figured it out, we took rags and tied knots in them for limbs and made them walk, in little groups (one person for the body, two for the feet). It was absolutely amazing to see these completely inanimate rags walk across the floor like little people. You didn't pay any attention to the three people in clear sight, controlling everything. All you saw was this tiny person strutting around the room. The next 6 months are going to be the best.

Speaking of six months from now, we just got word that on May 10th, there is be a showcase for all the MA Creative Writing people at the Pegasus. Apparently, in the afternoon they are going to do a competition where everyone who wants to can read something to a bunch of judges, then the winners get to read later that evening in front of agents. Sounds terrifying and awesome, I'm glad I have so much forewarning. Also, speaking of my course, I could possibly get my marks tomorrow for my final project.  I think I'm going to throw up.

Ok, I'm off. Nano is going well, but I'm really behind, more so than I've ever been in years past. I think it's because Nicole and I are not raceing. It looks like I need to race, I need that fear factor to keep me at it. But it's all ok, I'll catch up.

~Maria

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Amazing Adventures of R.R. Shackleton.






























Ultimate birthday present presented to R.R. Shackleton on the 4th of November, 2011, by Misses Rose Brettingham and Maria C.Goodson. This took agessss. 


~MCG

Thursday, November 3, 2011

How to survive NaNoWriMo

Rose likes to draw, I like to color.

This is my 5th year embarking on National Novel Writing Month's November of writing dangerously, so I feel like I can write about it with some authority (and by some, I mean maybe a little, maybe). However, this year is the first time I'm trying to write well as well as just write, which is proving difficult. I know that's not what NaNo is all about, but now that I have a practically-completed MA in creative writing under my belt, sharing a holster with my good old BA from WVU in English, I feel like I should at least try to write well. Or at least write better, better than years gone by. Only December will tell if I've actually accomplished this, the soonest time any living soul will see any of it beyond myself. Unless you ask nicely.


Anyway: back to writing with authority. I've compiled a list of tips to help newcomers get through the month of November, in case anyone was in need of a tip or two. Here you go;


1) Stay off facebook- Impossible you say? Well yes, nearly. I'm on facebook right now, but I know I shouldn't be. Facebook is the root of all time-wasting evil, but it's also so conveniently useful and addictively interesting (sometimes, except when your pregnant friends are updating the world every centimeter they are dilated, from the hospital, in real time) that we just can't stay away. If you can help it, try. Try hard. Because the simple fact is that every moment you spend on facebook is a moment you could be, and should be, writing. I'm going to close mine right now.


2) Wake up early- This might be, for some, even harder than staying off facebook. I know I meet every morning with the same eagerness that one anticipates cleaning the toilet, pulling hair out of a drain and walking on hot coals. I am not a morning person, but in November I am. If you work everyday, get up at least an hour earlier than you normally would and write before work. If you do nothing all day, like me (besides apply for jobs and thinking about doing laundry), don't let yourself sleep in till 11 just because you can. I promise that reaching your word count goal for the day before noon is the best feeling in the world, and will make the rest of your day sparkle.


3) Use your time creatively- When Nicole and I were still in college, we carried our computers around with us everywhere. I'd write between classes, waiting for class, waiting for the bus or the PRT (which was usually late anyway, so that's lots of time there) or sitting in the Coliseum waiting for marching band practice to start. Just carry a notebook with you, everywhere (which you should be doing anyway) and write in every moment of spare time you have. I did NaNo during the busiest semesters of my life, once year when I had a full-time job, and am doing it now with mostly free weekdays, and time was always and continues to be the main issue. You need time to think, time to figure things out, time to stare at a blank wall, and time to write it all down. Basically, all I'm saying is that 50k in a month is going to take time, and if you don't have the time but you have the desire, you need to make it yourself.


4) Get all your friends to do it- In the past it was usually just Nicole and I, running rampant around Morgantown, racing to 50k. The next year we made a few more friends who did it too, which was really great. This year, I convinced a few friends from my course to do it too. It not only feels good to be in it with someone else, but it's also imperative to have other people on your back, pushing you forward when you just don't want to write anymore. I just met with my friend Rebecca an hour ago. We sat on her living-room floor for three hours, talking out our story plots, asking each other questions and figuring things out. It was SO helpful, I hope we do it again sometime soon.


5) Tell EVERYONE you are doing NaNo- So they know why you are blowing them off. Don't just revert to your hermit state without telling anyone why, or everyone is going to either send the search parties out looking for you, give you up for dead and start going through all your stuff, or just get really mad at you for not returning their phone calls. Just tell everyone you know that your writing a novel for a month, and that you'll see them in December, just in time for Christmas shopping. Then go back to blowing them off.


6) Do not get on blogger and blog about writing and neglect your novel- Oh wait.




I am currently doing nothing from this list, so I better go. Good luck to one and all!


~Maria

Friday, October 28, 2011

Destruction of Wild Cats


 There is no telling where these pictures are going to end up. Blogger is still a mystery to me, after all these years.
Best thing I've seen in a while.
You can't come to Oxford and not take this picture.

Tolkien's tree.
Best picture ever. The grandparents in Oxford.
Remember when I said I'd blog all the time, now that my course is over? That was such a lie. I'd promise to blog more in the future, but that would probably be a lie too. I only really do it when the spirit moves me, and by that I mean the spirit of I-have-nothing-else-better-to-do. There is always something else to do, if it's better per say it debatable. 

So here is a small collection of things I've written down in my little journal I carry around with me everywhere that I wanted to blog about in the past month. None of them on their own are really worthy of a whole blog post, or really of anything, but by blogging about them now I'll be able to cross three whole things off my massive list of things to do, which is all life's really about. I'm a slave to lists. 


Thing one: Lame haikus with titles (which I don't think is really allowed), most of which were written at the bus station, waiting. 
 


Non-autobiographical

My brother got the
music, the art, wit and eyes. 
I got a head cold. 


Maybe biographical

Urgent: Wanted NOW-
A girl who wears necklaces,
and reads fairy tales. 


Dear Grandpa,

My Italian is
Mediocre at best, but
devo ricordarmi. 
I cheated on that one by a syllable, shut up.

The loneliest man at bingo.

Sticky skin and a 
flaccid handshake, smells of your
neighbor's old, wet toys. 


You can't text message break up.

Text me, so I can
analyze your tone and miss
the truth; should just call. 


Real men have pulses.


Keep your vampires,
diamond skin and spiky hair. 
Sharp, no; give me soft. 


For Alisha.

She came, she saw, she
wrote, she laughed, she loved, she danced.
She changed our music. 



Don't go reading into any of those, they are totally random except the ones for certain people, like Grandpa and Alisha. I don't really think my brother got all the good genes and I got nothing (although he did get most of them) and the text message one is not directed at anyone, just people in general who let texts ruin their day. Although I was asked out by a vampire recently and turned him down. The undead are not my type.


Thing two: the aforementioned loneliest man at bingo.  

The other day at work, a man handed me his money to pay for a tea towel or a post card of the Magna Carta or something covered in Victorian children's books spines, and our hands touched for the briefest of moments. This in and of it's self is not worth mentioning; it happens all the time. In fact, I bet that I end up touching hands with most of the customers who come into the shop, all except the ones who throw their money down on the counter, or the ones who just open their purses for me to take my pick (I should really be rich by now), or the ones who make no effort to reach their hands out toward me even a fraction of an inch so I'm forced to reach across the entire counter and then some, extend the full length of my arm to snatch the money out of their hand. That might make me sound lazy, but it's just one of those unwritten rules that when you pay someone, you actually give them the money, not just taunt them with it by holding it as far away from them as humanly possible and make them really work for it, even though in most cases, that person literally gains nothing by exerting the effort, seeing as, although they are being paid to stand there and perform the act, the actual money being exchanged goes straight into the till and not into their pocket. Such a person would get equally paid for just standing there; they could afford to stand there all day, playing pay-me chicken, waiting for the customer who's been living under a rock their whole lives to get a clue and actually hand them the money so they have leave to take their 30p post card and go bother someone else. But this is well beyond the point. 
The point is this; I make a lot of hand contact in my job on a normal basis. Usually I don't even notice. Every now and then someone has serious BO, in which case I notice, but we have hand sanitizer behind the counter, so I'm usually fairly safe. However the other day, I encountered the loneliest man at bingo. 

He smelled like old toys. The moment our hands touched, I wished they hadn't. His presence immediately conjured images of old toys, and not the ones we all loved nearly to death. Not the old dinosaur my brother loved so much all the fabric on his neck literally disappeared, not my old elephant made of a bed spread, not my American Girl Doll or our LEGOs or even my old, grubby My Little Ponies, covered in dark smudges of unknown origin. No, this guy made me shiver, cringe. I almost grimaced, but I managed to hold it together (that would not be very good customer service).  

See, he didn't smell like my old toys. My well loved, faithful friends I will never have the heart to throw/donate/give away. This guy smelled like your neighbor's old toys. Not even your neighbor, you usually know your neighbors. It was more like a stranger's old toys. Because while sure, the My Little Ponies I have (at least I think I still have them, mother?) had undefinable smudges on them, it didn't matter. They are my smudges, they happened in my room, in my house, by my hand, me. They may be mysterious, but they are still familiar. There is no telling why a stranger's Barbie's hair is sticky, or why their Tonka trucks smell like raisins, or how all the facial features got rubbed off their Polly Pockets. Anyone who's seen Toy Story 3 knows exactly what I'm talking about. My teddy bear is warm because I have been hugging it, but I'll never hug a stranger's bear. I don't know where it's been (I know, I'm sure I've hugged many strange toys, children don't know what their doing. A toy is a toy, it's only later in life that they'll really think about what they were hugging, what they were pressing their faces up against. Then they'll cringe, mark my words. That, or they'll never think about it. Because let's face it, who really cares about this? Me, because I care about things that don't matter, remember?)

This man is not really the loneliest man at bingo, that's just what I named him. I'm sure he's the loveliest person ever, I believe he was polite to me and everything. Unfortunately for him, all I remember about him is the uncomfortable feeling his clammy skin gave me and the completely random memory of dirty play things. Poor guy. 

Thing 3: Funny things learned from reading the dictionary one night with Rose in our kitchen on a Friday night. If that's not sad, I don't know what is

These things were lovingly compiled on the back of a ripped open Turkish Delight box, because I was too lazy to walk the ten steps from the kitchen table to my bedroom to get paper. 

Our favorite names for groups of animals that no one actually uese: 

Murmuration of starlings.

Destruction of wild cats. 

Pandemonium of parrots. 

Crash of rhinos. 

I hope to never be in a situation where I'd ever have to refer to a destruction of wild cats, unless referring to that adorable destruction of wild cats safely behind that high, electric fence. 

I was under the impression that anything that flew, flew in a flock, but boy was I wrong. A murmuration just seems like a lot more work than a flock for some reason. Probably because of all the murs in the word. Flock is much more snappy. Murmuration sounds like the process of pickling a pandemonium of parrots or something. That word would never fly. 

When discussing the plural forms of words such as syllabus, Rose stated that she thought a syllabus was a type of plant. If that were the case I would have had a jungle for a dorm room freshman year. 

Subcutaneous means, under the skin. Gross. 

And finally, can we please take a moment to ponder the exsistance of the silent P? Pterodactyl? It's just so illogical. 

Alright, that's all. See you in a month. Just kidding, hopefully. Next month is NaNoWriMo (do it do it do it!), so you may not see much of me in November, as usual. That, or you'll see tons of me, because blogging sounds like a good way to procrastinate what I should be writing. We'll see how it goes. 

The battery on my computer just died. And not in the plug-it-in-and-charge-it sort of way. It is plugged in, but it's not charging. Never will again. Not cool. So I basically no longer own a lap top. Fantastic. That's going to make November annoying. 

Good night murmurations!





Thursday, September 29, 2011

Beetroot



We were climbing rocks on the coast of West Wales the other day when we realized that it was a year to the day that we started our MA course together. Not all of us became friends that day, only Alisha and I really (culturally thrust together when we heard each others accents), but we all met, exchanged curious glances, were aware of each others presences. There was no telling at that point that a year to the day from that stuffy attic room in the Tonge building, full of strangers crazy enough to want to write, that we'd be together in such a beautiful place, smelly puppy in toe, an MA under our belts and nothing but hopefully hazy futures ahead of us.


That day on the cliffs we were a man down, Charlie unfortunately couldn't come, but we filled his place (but in no way replaced him) with my right hand man, Rose. Even without Charles, it was a surreal moment. All the cliche things were happening, the waves were gently crashing on the rocks, Mungo (said smelly puppy) was barking at Tom and getting soaked in the surf, the sea breeze was throwing our hair in our eyes and the sun even made an appearance after two days of drizzle and mounds of muddy paths and wellies. Standing on the cliffs with my friends was much more significant to me than August 3rd, my one year anniversary of moving to England. That day came and went without a thought. However, I think realizing that it was a year to the day that the course started was more important because the MA was the entire reason I'm here. It was fitting too that Rose was there, my first friend, once and future housemate and one of the coolest people I've ever met; her presence completed it, brought my year right back around to that sunny September when I started, back when I thought I knew what I was doing, back when I thought I'd be home by now, back when everything was still foreign and I still hadn't seen Doctor Who.


Ps, I'm not making a new blog. This one is just fine. But from now on, I'm no longer major7th. I'm Maria C. Goodson; keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

New blog


So yesterday, I was sitting in the Jericho Cafe, waiting for a movie to start at the Phoenix across the street where I was meeting a friend later.  I got to Jericho really early, a few hours early, as I tend to do, so I got a drink and sat in the cafe to kill time. I ended up sitting there for almost two hours, making the above doodle/poem/legalpadartthing, listening to my ipod, and I came up with a new idea. 

Really, it wasn't my idea. My buddy Rob was visiting the other day, and he was showing me all his music on the internet. He is alllll over the internet and asked if I had a blog. I said I did and showed it to him, and he asked me what it was about. I couldn't really answer that, what is this blog about? It's about nothing, like Seinfeld, but not as funny. I explained to him that the purpose of the blog was initially for a class, then just for fun, then an easy way to let my friends and family know what I was up to while in England. But, some of my posts do have points. He said I should make a new blog, the with-a-point blog. And I decided yesterday that this was a great idea. 

More on this new blog later, I'm still trying to come up with a name. It should just be called MARIA C GOODSON THE WRITER BLOGGG or something like that, but I really like Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe, so I might go for another Bowie lyric. Any suggestions? Throw um at me: if you feel inclined to comment, let me also know about your favorite line from any David Bowie song, if you have one. I'm still thinking Moonage Daydream, I just love that tune. 

Ok, about to be late for work, as usual. 

See ya later, party people. 

~major7th

Sunday, September 11, 2011

MASTER of the universe

Hanging on my wall, above my desk, in case I forget that I finished.
Curtesy of Rose Brettingham (image) and Charlie Brassly (formatting).

You know you want to read it. Find me a publisher and we'll talk.
Or just ask and I'll send you a copy.


I wish I'd taken a picture of the actual bound final product, but I only held it in my hands for about the second it took to walk from the print center to the English Department building. Just take my word for it- it was beautiful.


My friends from the course got to our house on Thursday around 11am where we commenced freaking out about every little thing, comparing word counts (21,237, final) and figuring out the stupid, online turn-it-in thing we had to do to prove we didn't plagiarize. Come on Brookes; why would I spend tons of money to do this course, only then to plagiarize my final project, thus learning absolutely nothing and getting nothing from my degree?


After stressing ourselves out for no reason for a few hours at home, we split up into two convoys with separate missions; Charlie and I went to his house to use his ultimate photoshop to fix my cover and print his project and Alisha, Meg and Tom went to buy food for later. We all met up again, my project and Charlie's lovingly printed off and contained in a shoe box, at the copy center, a gigantic room that only allows students to stand in a tiny, smashed up area where all the hot air from the printers happens to end up, and we all were printed and bound. Meg went for comb binding, Alisha and Tom with tape, and Charlie and I went for wire, in case anyone was wondering (wire trumps tape any day, don't let anyone tell you otherwise).


We all turned in, signed off on our projects, got them signed off, received our official little receipts and were on our way. And that was it, my year in England worth of hard work and stress officially out of my hands and submitted.  No marks till December, don't graduate till April. I hate waiting, but Rose found me this great quote for my bedroom wall about how patience is not really being able to wait, but "the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting." So I guess I'll try that.


In other news, everything is happening. I bought a plane ticket to come home for Christmas for a whole month, so get ready people, it's going to be good. I'm applying for some new jobs now that I'm officially allowed to work more hours. I still love my house, although not being a student is killing us tax wise. I can once again read and write anything I want. I decided that, when I move back home eventually, that I'm going to apply for an internship at the Jim Henson puppet workshops in either New York or LA. They have a headquarters in London too, but there are no internships there. I'm just going to try to ride this creative train till it crashes and I'm forced to get a real job. But damn the man, not yet!


However, speaking of jobs, I should probably get ready for mine now. Good old gift shop. I did make my life more interesting yesterday at work (I basically work all weekend long now a days, every weekend) by organizing/editing our postcard list. Sounds lame, I know, but once I'm done it will actually make my life and that of everyone else much easier, so I felt a little accomplished, for once.


The question now is this: what do I write next? Let's take a poll (as if you all know anything about any of these):


~Finish Talented.
~Write second draft of Beyond the Fold.
~Write scenes of/figure out new book idea, working title Existence.
~Continue with Practice Dating (might save this one for NaNoWriMo, since it's so fun and ridiculous).


So many choices! I think I'm leaning toward the second draft of Beyond the Fold (notice how I'm putting my titles in italics now, as if they were real books already) seeing as it's the closest to completion, and I love it with all my heart. However, I will probably have to take a break in November for NaNo, in which case it will be a tie between Practice Dating and Existence. Unfortunately Talented is going to have to take the back burner for a while, because I just don't know what happens next. I'm sure I'll figure it out as I'm writing the others, that's always the way of things.


Alright, I really do need to go to work now. Hopefully the completion of my MA also means I'll blog more. Hold me to that, faithful readers, because I do enjoy it.


Peace,


~major7th, MA of the universe

Friday, August 26, 2011

Reasons I like my new house.

We have a bright blue kitchen.



My bedroom is the biggest I've ever had all to myself.

That's my bike out the window, getting rained on.
I live five seconds away from a cemetery. I did at my last house too; it just seems to always happen.


I can look out the window into my back yard and all my neighbor's yards while I shower.

Weird glassed in bookshelf in my room. Love it.
We are five seconds away from everything. Being out of milk is no longer the worst thing ever.

That blue door out my window is an outhouse. Doesn't work.
Things on Cowley road are open MUCH later everyday. This means I no longer have to starve on Sundays.
Did I mention our living room is also a panic room? It locks from the inside only.

I love my housemates.

I have a bed. Finally.

I got Shobha's printer to work that she left when she went back to Vienna. So, now I have a printer. I scanned these pictures with it the other day:  FLICKER

I have enough floor space in my bedroom to make snow angels, if it were ever to snow in my room.

The end. Back to my essay. Alisha found all the problems in it last night for me, so now I just need to fix it. I'm dangerously close to being finished with my MA. Insane.

~major7th