From about 3 pm to 5:30 pm there seems to be this window of time in which I am able to feel startlingly lethargic. What makes it really great for me is that I have class from 3 pm until about 4:20 every day of the week besides Friday. Why do I bring up this almost daily crisis of mine? Because as I sit here taking notes I am lapsing into my mid-afternoon exhaustion. Today, though, is not really as bad as other days. And I owe it all to my friend: Egg and Spinach Sandwich on a toasted bagel. At nine o'clock tonight when I am finally back at my room after a long day, I will most likely be thinking that the few minutes during which I was eating that sandwich encompassed the best moment of my entire day. To be honest, right now all I can think about is asking the adorable little Asian lady, Caroline (I know this is her name because at the Evergreen cafe they often yell back "Caroline, large Chai!) if she'd like to gather up a few of her other small cooking and baking Asian friends and start a factory right in my dorm room where she only manufactured those bagel sandwiches all day...and maybe even a few large chais every once in awhile. She could take the whole kitchen, that'd be fine.
I'm currently thinking of buying Tom's of Birkenstock sandals...or both (probably both). I'm very hesitant though, mostly about the comfort level of both. I already know that either way I'll be sporting one of the two most liberal shoe styles. Once purchased, I am absolutely pairing said shoes with my big glasses and my bucket hat. New shoes=happy spring. It's gorgeous in Baltimore.
Speaking of which.....I need to get the hell out of Into to Psych........
Well, let me leave with a video that I am watching hopelessly on silent right now, it's a goodie:
A standard for living often comes from philosophy, religion, or authority. Mine...well, it comes from a children's book. The Velveteen Rabbit offered one profound, yet simple principle and at age seven I learned that I did not want to forsake it. Be ugly, get old, smell awful, suck as things, get made fun of-but through it all be very, very REAL. Let's explore the velveteen of it all...
The Velveteen Rabbit
here's how I'm looking at things...
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
Welcome to Taking Lessons from Toys!
Let's talk about the things that matter to a nineteen (and counting) year old: poetry, music, amazing places, and food...
A Place for Poetry...
half of me on land
[sitting in front of the ocean: 8.02.09; 7:35 am]
i’m imaginary while stationary
next to the woman who wakes the gods that I do not believe in
the gods in the haze, the swell
before noon, the little girl in me
breezed away, swept over,
overlooked, the little girl in me
only under my toe, only thicker
than the froth, the washed up
entities, my self, my fears:
the wars, whatever I am crying about
i ask the sun saluter
to my right to intercess, maybe it’ll
mean something more when she
reaches up
it just might within the slight
dusting of light and grain beneath
me, I may cry forever and
never cry again and I myself
may gently salute the sun
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