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.


Saturday, August 20, 2011

Effects of staying home all day, trying to write an essay:

Lots of facebook activity. First and foremost.
Books everywhere. On the couch, all over the coffee table, under the couch for some reason, on the shelf, under my shoe, in a tree. 

Constant walks around the house so I can regain feeling in the lower half of my body.

I am ultra aware of the feeling/cleanliness of my teeth.

I ate way too many strawberries.

When I did venture outside to do things, nothing got done.

I noticed when a petal fells from a dying orchid, because I’ve been staring at it all day.

I hate the clothes I’m wearing, but am too lazy to change them, knowing as well that I’d just hate those too.

I feel fat. Sitting makes you feel fat. But I can't type standing up. 
Am very aware of how pretty the sky is outside our living room window and keep taking pictures of said window, without moving from the couch.

I had the realization halfway through the day that I haven’t read nearly enough books to write about what I’m writing about with the authority I’m pretending I have. 

If I hear the ice cream truck’s stupid song one more time, I’m going to open up a can. I think you know what of. 

Number of e-mail received that were not facebook notification: 2. Number of e-mails received from my mother: 2. 

I’ve started to notice a pattern in my itunes shuffle and I don’t like it (the pattern and the fact that I’ve noticed). 

I realized I have three books, all with the same title, by different people, about the exact same thing, and I’m referencing them all to look like I have more sources. Poor plan genius. 

My final project book is nowhere near as good in any way as the books I’m citing as my influences. But Connan O’Brien says it’s ok to fail, so whatevaaa. 

Writing a blog/list of things from my day is ten times more enjoyable than what I’ve been trying to do all day. 

The blog word count I’ve written in two seconds far exceeds the word count of the essay I’ve been writing for the last 7 hours. 

I had to think way too hard to find the word ‘exceeds’ just then in my internal dictionary. “succeeds… …supersedes…superman….no…”

I feel guilty every time I read another author’s blog about being a writer because I have been reading about them and not being one myself. 

My face feels dirty no matter how many times I wash it. I think I need a facial. 

 Can I reference I book I have not read, but own and intend to read, probably (definitely) after the essay is due? 

How dare I compare my book in any way to books like Holes and Percy Jackson? That’s like comparing a rock to the Taj Mahal. Ordinary, driveway gravel. 


Something positive: I’m starting to really like the title I chose for my final project. I can picture it on the cover of my book one day, all glossy. But not too glossy; I still want boys to read it. 

I hate tea. Tea is just a thing to do, not something that matters. I’m going to go get another cup of tea. 


In my desperation for adequate information on the topic I’m writing about, I e-mailed a professor at Cambridge, basically the coolest woman on the planet, my literary/academic superstar, asking for help. I’m never hearing from her, that’s for damn sure. 

On normal days, the Indiana Jones soundtrack never comes up on my itunes shuffle. On days like today, itunes is left with little choice unless it wants to become repetitive. 

Wrote two haikus:
My day: bought mirrors,
(neither magic) watched orchid
die. Wrote 1 haiku.


Pink petals wilting,
Tried so hard ignoring you.
Clap, believe; please live.

Both about the stupid orchid dying on our mantel. No one should ever trust me to keep their plants alive. Number of plants I’m currently in charge of: 3. 

Found this amazing illustration/little story in one of my ancient books on writing for children I got from the library the other day. I love it with all my heart, but the book neglects to cite it in any way, no reference anywhere to what book it’s from, who wrote/drew it or anything. Poor Oswald. 

I just love it so much. Look at his little stash.

 I only have 600 more words to write of my essay (could probably get away with 400, but let's not get too lazy just yet). 

My phone has not rung all day. I'm so unpopular. 

Back to it. 


Thursday, August 18, 2011

Every book is a kid's book if the kid can read it.

I stole this picture from Rose. And I stole the blog title from Mitch Hedberg. I have no original ideas.

Today consisted of sitting on the couch for the entire day with Alisha, working on our final projects. The internet man came, hooked us up, then left. That was the only time I opened the front door all day. It's been raining all day, that's my excuse. Yesterday our friends from the course came over. We spent 12 hours straight together, catching up and talking about our final projects. That's another reason for my lazy day I think. My brain hurts.

My project is getting dangerously close to being done. Well, the essay isn't, but the creative part is. If anything I think my essay progress is going backward; I'm sure that with every day I don't look at it, the word count goes mysteriously down. Yesterday was the first time all year that I've talked about my final project story with people and they haven't found a gaping problem with it. I think I've finally got it.

Now we're listening to Avril Lavigne, still not moving. It bothers me that I'm this content doing nothing. Granted, I did get a lot of work done today, I suppose I deserve a break. But that's the thing about doing anything creative; you're never done. Even with I finish the project, there is always another project. Even if I got a book published, there would always be another one. Finish a painting? Start another one. And who's to say when anything is finished anyway? Things can always be better, things can always change, sometimes it's hard to stop.  It never ends, which is good, except that it leaves me feeling constantly like I need to be doing something. I like being busy, I'd go insane if I wasn't, but still.

I did come up with a title for my final project today. Drum-roll please...


Lame? Yeah, maybe. But I think it fits, because my whole story, at the end of the day, is about people having the things they are best at/are most passionate about, stolen. It's about what makes all of us special and how everyone has something they are good at. So yeah, I don't know. Give it like a day, I'll probably change it.

The other day at work I started writing haikus (I think the plural of haiku is actually haiku, but it looks too weird) to keep my brain from turning to mush. I think it did anyway. I wrote this one about living in Virginia in the summer:

It's too hot to live,
so let's play Xbox and dream
of Slushies or snow.

Lame, I know. But whatever, it passes the time. Note to future self: never take a job that makes you wish the day would end faster. Lifewaster.

I want to put up pictures of our new house, but I still don't have the right bed in my room, so I am waiting. Very annoying. I've been paying to live in the house for almost two weeks now, and I still don't have the right bed. We did get a coffee table the other day, so that's a plus.

I do have this one picture, of the front. Cute hu? My own little hobbit hole.

That's all for now. As you can see, I don't have a lot going on. And I'm a little brain dead. Back to work.


Monday, August 8, 2011

Pretend I wrote this on August 3rd.

I totally missed it. The day came and went like any other day in the history of forgotten days. August 3rd; my one year anniversary of moving to England. I missed my own anniversary. That's just silly. This, I suppose, is the part where I'm meant to talk about all the things I've done this year and how amazing it's all been and how much I've changed. Don't get me wrong, it has been amazing, full of tea drinking, writing, traveling, writing, friend-making, and writing. I guess I could reflect on all the things I've learned (after all, that's what anniversary blogs are all about, right? Reflecting), like how to plan trips cross country for less than £20, when to use the pluperfect tense and when to kill it, how to tap dance a little, how to get a job (tell them your amazing), how to write professional sounding e-mails in order to get what I want, how to properly house hunt and deal with incompetent people (I think I knew how to do that before actually). 

And I have changed a bit, I think I'm a little less shy (the words think and little being the key words there), I really like the taste of coffee and not just the smell, I've recently started liking the taste of beer (only the cheap stuff) but still don't know (or care) anything about it, I like to dance, but only when it's dark enough and I no longer trust humanity to give me a break and try, for once, to not steal all my possessions. You should see me chaining up my bike all over town; I'm convinced every time that it won't be there when I get back. I could now lead a fantastic, nerd's tour of Oxford where a year ago I'd have paid money to go on such a thing, if one existed. However, as I sit here, making myself sick by trying to write this on a bus home from London, it is nauseatingly clear to me that I'm the same person I was August 3rd, 2010.  Car sick; that's me. Constantly car sick. 

Rose and I moved into our new house today, but we will be moving most of our stuff tomorrow. Our other new housemate, Isa, was there as well, and we all picked our rooms and checked it all out. It's a great little place, great location, weird back yard, homey. I got the second biggest room because Isa didn't want to live on the ground floor, which is awesome. Rose and I lovingly named our living room the Panic Room because, for some reason, it has two substantial locks on the door, but only from the inside. We want to get a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy poster for the mantel, you know, the ones that say DON'T PANIC with the yellow smiley face. We'll see if Alisha and Isa go for it. 

The house also has an outhouse in the shed (wwhhaatt?), a heavy-duty A frame chalkboard sign clearly stolen from a pizza place,  weeds in the back yard instead of grass, and a blue kitchen. Also, no furniture. Isa's room has nothing in it at all, and my room needs a mattress. All of this should be coming this week (but really should have been there already), so hopefully by next week we will be living in our fully functional house.

I'm going backward here. Last week I had a lovely time visiting Margarette in Ramsgate, this time on the hottest day of the year instead of the coldest when I visited in December. It's a completely different place in the summer, absolutely beautiful. 

But now I'm back in Oxford for, hopefully, the next few months. I've picked up more hours at work and I really need to finish my final project. Time's a wastin'. 

Everyone go do yourselves a favor and remind yourselves of how much you love Simon and Garfunkel. 

Alright, I'm going to go braid Rose's hair. Catch you cat's on the flip side. 

± major7th