Peggy will have to write: |
I will not be distracted by passing butterflies |
'What will you have to write on the chalk board?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
eeh...
Sunday, February 12, 2006
If any of y'all do the spanish thing...please for the love of all things holy edit this!!
Margaret Fulda
2006-02-05
Español 301
El Monstruo Volador de Espagueti
Hace mucho tiempo, cuando el mundo todavía era nuevo, nació el monstruo volador de espagueti. En ese momento, no había nadie que entendía lo que pasaba. No habían las montañas altas, ni los mares anchos, y no habían las llanuras que doblan y ondean como ondas de océano. Había solo una tierra muy desolada, era repleta de granos de arena que saltaban y bailaron con el viento. El cielo se atascaba en el estado perpetuo de gris, como si los espíritus estuvieron decidiendo hacer una tempestad ó no. No había nadie que el sol necesitaba entretener, entonces a menudo él no se levantó hasta el mediodía, o fue viajando a sus amigos, los planetas. Cuando el momento propicio se ocurrió, el sol estaba visitando al bebé Plutón, y entonces no vio con sus propios ojos la creación del gran monstruo.
El día comenzó con una explosión de colores. Los tonos esparcen a través de la oscuridad y un viento que se olía de trigo sopló violentamente. El aire llegó a ser grueso con el olor de levadura y electricidad. La atmósfera lentamente obtenía más y más gruesa, y por fin sola con un taponazo pequeño y una chispa débil, apareció un hilo solitario de pasta. El hilo era sucinto, no más largo que un brazo pequeño de niño. Este hilo se acostó por un rato, entonces empezó a retorcer como un pez en un gancho. Luego, el hilo empezó a dividirse. Todo el mundo en ese momento estaba quieto, salvo el viento que contenía la respiración, como si todas las criaturas por todo el mundo miraran la ocasión de gran importancia. Con un súper grande estallido de trueno, los hilos de pasta se reunieron. Las pastas todavía estaban acostándose, pero ya formaron una vez, una criatura. Los olores y el sentido de peso con cada minuto estaban aumentando, y los colores que estaban por el cielo también intensificaron. Entonces, los hilos pusieron a pies y empezaron a moverse. Pues ellos oscilaron juntos, y cuándo pararon, los pedazos de espaguetis habían formado a una persona.
Gradualmente, el monstruo ganaba su fuerza, y crecía al cuerpo. Cuándo terminó, era su grande mojada monstruoso tallarín, el medía 38 pies. Por fin, tenía doce apéndices tallarines que se undulan con ritmo cuando andaba, y una cabeza tanto grande cómo cien calabazas maduras. No podríamos discutir los ojos del monstruo, porque si los discutiríamos, tendríamos que comer nuestras narices para que no faltáramos de respeto al gran monstruo. Pero si miráramos con mucha atención, en sus ojos podemos ver la luna de noche. Cuándo el viene a ustedes, van a sentirse como se sienten en una nube, es porque tiene tanta fuerza que usted no puede controlar su mente. Los miembros no son exactamente sólidos, con demasiados pensamientos, el monstruo volador de espagueti se disuelve a una masa de pastas. Como era en el principio, así lo que continua, y el monstruo huele de de trigo y pan que hornea. La gente puede reconocer su presencia de estos olores. Pero, ahora todavía está temprano para asuntos espirituales. Antes de que los humanos puedan reconocer la grandeza del monstruo volador de espagueti, el debe que hacer todo en el mundo, y solo después de eso la gente podrían entender lo que sea.
Por un tiempo largo, el mundo descansó como desierto, como la tierra desolada. El monstruo pude hacer lo que complació. Después de un rato, el sol llegó a ser perezoso, no tenía nada otra que tuvo que hacer, y así empezó a subir. A causa de eso, el cielo también llegó a ser perezoso, y así decidió no tronar. La vida del monstruo llegó a ser fácil, y él también comenzó a ser perezoso y aburrido. Sus apéndices tallarines ondearon menos lento, y el olor de trigo era menos fuerte. También la luna en sus ojos era menos obvia, y no le gustaron todo de eso. Un día, los colores brillantes en el cielo se regresaron, y también se ocurrió el olor muy extraño y fuerte. También se ocurrió lo que ya pasó, cuándo el aire mucho espesaba. Después, sin cualquier fanfarria ni explosiones, se apareció una cordillera de montañas anchos, altas, y con nieve tan blanco como la arena abajo. En ese exacto momento, el monstruo empezó a volar. Sus apéndices dispersaron por todas direcciones, la arena se arremolinó, y lo siguió hasta las cimas de las montañas. El monstruo volador voló de la montaña a la montaña, y sus apéndices golpearon con felicidad. Cuándo por fin él volvió a la tierra, un árbol grande apareció de sus apéndices omnipotentes de tallarines. Eso árbol era tan grande como las montañas nuevas y altas. Luego, por supuesto sin descansarse, una otra gran y poderosa criatura fue desovada de los apéndices. Los apéndices retorcieron una vez, y entonces allí llegó a ser un hombre diminuto que paraba diminutamente alrededor del árbol grande. Ese enano era tan pequeño, que si usted lo miraba, no podría verlo. Usted me debe creer que él tiene un sombrero púrpura desenvuelto en la cabeza.
Después que la creación, el gran monstruo volador de espaguetis descansó. Su poder gradualmente aumenta, y el aire gradualmente espese. Hoy, quizás ustedes podrían oler un poco de trigo, quizás todavía está temprano. Pero estoy segura, que es nuestra responsabilidad esparcir el amor y santidad del monstruo volador de espagueti. Esa es la fuerza de su poderoso apéndice de tallarín.
2006-02-05
Español 301
El Monstruo Volador de Espagueti
Hace mucho tiempo, cuando el mundo todavía era nuevo, nació el monstruo volador de espagueti. En ese momento, no había nadie que entendía lo que pasaba. No habían las montañas altas, ni los mares anchos, y no habían las llanuras que doblan y ondean como ondas de océano. Había solo una tierra muy desolada, era repleta de granos de arena que saltaban y bailaron con el viento. El cielo se atascaba en el estado perpetuo de gris, como si los espíritus estuvieron decidiendo hacer una tempestad ó no. No había nadie que el sol necesitaba entretener, entonces a menudo él no se levantó hasta el mediodía, o fue viajando a sus amigos, los planetas. Cuando el momento propicio se ocurrió, el sol estaba visitando al bebé Plutón, y entonces no vio con sus propios ojos la creación del gran monstruo.
El día comenzó con una explosión de colores. Los tonos esparcen a través de la oscuridad y un viento que se olía de trigo sopló violentamente. El aire llegó a ser grueso con el olor de levadura y electricidad. La atmósfera lentamente obtenía más y más gruesa, y por fin sola con un taponazo pequeño y una chispa débil, apareció un hilo solitario de pasta. El hilo era sucinto, no más largo que un brazo pequeño de niño. Este hilo se acostó por un rato, entonces empezó a retorcer como un pez en un gancho. Luego, el hilo empezó a dividirse. Todo el mundo en ese momento estaba quieto, salvo el viento que contenía la respiración, como si todas las criaturas por todo el mundo miraran la ocasión de gran importancia. Con un súper grande estallido de trueno, los hilos de pasta se reunieron. Las pastas todavía estaban acostándose, pero ya formaron una vez, una criatura. Los olores y el sentido de peso con cada minuto estaban aumentando, y los colores que estaban por el cielo también intensificaron. Entonces, los hilos pusieron a pies y empezaron a moverse. Pues ellos oscilaron juntos, y cuándo pararon, los pedazos de espaguetis habían formado a una persona.
Gradualmente, el monstruo ganaba su fuerza, y crecía al cuerpo. Cuándo terminó, era su grande mojada monstruoso tallarín, el medía 38 pies. Por fin, tenía doce apéndices tallarines que se undulan con ritmo cuando andaba, y una cabeza tanto grande cómo cien calabazas maduras. No podríamos discutir los ojos del monstruo, porque si los discutiríamos, tendríamos que comer nuestras narices para que no faltáramos de respeto al gran monstruo. Pero si miráramos con mucha atención, en sus ojos podemos ver la luna de noche. Cuándo el viene a ustedes, van a sentirse como se sienten en una nube, es porque tiene tanta fuerza que usted no puede controlar su mente. Los miembros no son exactamente sólidos, con demasiados pensamientos, el monstruo volador de espagueti se disuelve a una masa de pastas. Como era en el principio, así lo que continua, y el monstruo huele de de trigo y pan que hornea. La gente puede reconocer su presencia de estos olores. Pero, ahora todavía está temprano para asuntos espirituales. Antes de que los humanos puedan reconocer la grandeza del monstruo volador de espagueti, el debe que hacer todo en el mundo, y solo después de eso la gente podrían entender lo que sea.
Por un tiempo largo, el mundo descansó como desierto, como la tierra desolada. El monstruo pude hacer lo que complació. Después de un rato, el sol llegó a ser perezoso, no tenía nada otra que tuvo que hacer, y así empezó a subir. A causa de eso, el cielo también llegó a ser perezoso, y así decidió no tronar. La vida del monstruo llegó a ser fácil, y él también comenzó a ser perezoso y aburrido. Sus apéndices tallarines ondearon menos lento, y el olor de trigo era menos fuerte. También la luna en sus ojos era menos obvia, y no le gustaron todo de eso. Un día, los colores brillantes en el cielo se regresaron, y también se ocurrió el olor muy extraño y fuerte. También se ocurrió lo que ya pasó, cuándo el aire mucho espesaba. Después, sin cualquier fanfarria ni explosiones, se apareció una cordillera de montañas anchos, altas, y con nieve tan blanco como la arena abajo. En ese exacto momento, el monstruo empezó a volar. Sus apéndices dispersaron por todas direcciones, la arena se arremolinó, y lo siguió hasta las cimas de las montañas. El monstruo volador voló de la montaña a la montaña, y sus apéndices golpearon con felicidad. Cuándo por fin él volvió a la tierra, un árbol grande apareció de sus apéndices omnipotentes de tallarines. Eso árbol era tan grande como las montañas nuevas y altas. Luego, por supuesto sin descansarse, una otra gran y poderosa criatura fue desovada de los apéndices. Los apéndices retorcieron una vez, y entonces allí llegó a ser un hombre diminuto que paraba diminutamente alrededor del árbol grande. Ese enano era tan pequeño, que si usted lo miraba, no podría verlo. Usted me debe creer que él tiene un sombrero púrpura desenvuelto en la cabeza.
Después que la creación, el gran monstruo volador de espaguetis descansó. Su poder gradualmente aumenta, y el aire gradualmente espese. Hoy, quizás ustedes podrían oler un poco de trigo, quizás todavía está temprano. Pero estoy segura, que es nuestra responsabilidad esparcir el amor y santidad del monstruo volador de espagueti. Esa es la fuerza de su poderoso apéndice de tallarín.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Engage. Now. Or alternatively, how I didn't jump his bones.
Forwarning, I'm spinning, and stream of conciousness and I don't have a particularly positive rapore of late. But there are things that need to be said, things that need to learn how to be said, things I need to wise up and deal with and learn how to say. This week, these weeks have been wrenching, like a washrag hung drip dry and then strung end to end, just to make sure everything that was there will wash away across the sidewalk, mixing with dust. Its funny, I didn't actually realize the absurdity of my actions, that I was in friggin' RUSSIA less than 2 months ago, and galavanting across the universe not even a month ago, Isreal to be exact-er. And then it hit me, school is scary, life is scary, staying still in one place is scary, being is scary. And hard, and turmoil, and gut wrenching, and beautiful, and wet. But most of all wet. I have not been stationary, static, relaxed, just not on guard, in far too long. Then I remember why, because staying put, staying still, means engaging, means slowing down for long enough to see the world as it buzzes by. It means sitting in the rain, in the dark, for five nights in a row in split screen, watching the you that you've been so long be confronted and destroyed. I've had it coming, for more than a while now, but borrowed time can only last so long, before it stretches and breaks, and there you are, alone on your ass.
Most of all, I didn't expect to miss you when you left. I expected relief, craved relief, thought finally, after so many years of expectation, maybe finally I'd be able to breath again. You came, an aberration, an anomale, and yes, in your wisdom, an overblown out of proportion dream of lonely nights. You left, today, in all your shaggy glory, a greater part of my life than when you blew in. You are simplicity on acid, you defy my logic, my expectations, my desires. I am more than definitly not over you, but if I were, this wouldn't matter so much, this entire process wouldn't have been so gut wrenching, because the stakes wouldn't have been so damn high. I wanted to hate you, wanted to find my small and itching reasons to have you gone...and I failed. You are my normal. You take me at my worst, you take me at my best, you take me when I am poking and prodding you and making you cry. You have to know, how much it burned that night, watching me destroy you, and knowing that I couldn't come over and put my arms around you and make the world go away. And then, lying on my floor, staring at the ceiling, and feeling your breath and the wind howl, I think somewhere in there I let go. You won't buy this, I know, I can hear you already, chuckling slyly. But its true, I lay there and listened to the rain pound, and felt you with your arms around me, and I realized that its time to learn to enjoy you, to take you for everything you have given to me, take every recollection, every awkard moment, every shy sadness, every hysterical fit of laughter, every time I ran to you, every endless conversation, every hellish daydream, every consolation, every extasy, every joy. I hope you know how much you mean to me...how much deep love and affection I have for you. I hope you know that I meant every word that was said. I hope you know that I will never let you fall through, that I will be around to kick your ass, and I take that very seriously. I hope you know that you are loved.
But darlin', if you ever pull this shit on me again, if you every put me through another week like this one, I will kill you. Know that, too.
The thing that sucks the most about finally having to deal with a small part of yourself, which you have, however unsuccesfully, shelled off from the world for quite some time, is how surreal everything feels. This attraction, this addiction, has been such a lingering persistance for so long now, I expect it to still be buzzing around like a bee, so much so that I almost miss the noise. Almost.
I definitly did not expect to regain some emotional stability out of the hell that has been this week, in fact, I'm not quite sure where this is coming from, but I'll go with it. I just got back from some more bonding time in the appartments, just sitting, talking, being, and for the first time in quite some time I could look around and respect being here, realize being here. Maybe this week shook me just enough to open up again, to expose myself again, that whole fear of vulnerability, violent, petulant, iron gripped. Fear for me is again the duality of life-- the impetus to wall myself off, and the need and motivation to fix it, to look within myself and make some changes. Woman, again you give me the ground under my feet, or remind me where to look.
And now, back on my feet again, there are some changes to be made. I have spent the first three weeks of the semester revelling in feeling out of place, and again out of control. I was that same muffled, shellshocked, creature that I yelled at you for being. I think Amy was more right then I ever wanted to give her credit for, we get very used to our habits of being. Be it depressed, busy, exhausted, enraptured, we learn these behaviors, and thus changing becomes not only the act of changing your mind, but also changing your habits. I can't be that person again, the one that swallowed me whole last year, I can't, and I refuse to be. And that person is exactly the one that I'm recreating for myself back here finally, but I can't do it again. I can't do 21 credits, tutoring, music, working 12-15 hours a week, and mantain any sort of peace. No matter how much I'd like to bury myself in the sand, to craft myself a life here bereft of any and all chance to be with myself, by myself, in my mind, I can't. I won't. So, within a few days, hopefully (unless I loose my nerve...) I'll suck it up and drop music theory, what a revelation, and for the first time in my college carreer only carry 17 credits. Engaging in my world right now means accepting the fact that I don't anymore want to be a music major/minor, and keeping up the facade is really just by force of habit, and that is stupid. Music will be a part of me and will be in my life because it is like breathing, not because I have my name on a piece of paper. Old dreams die slowly, but its time.
Enough.
Most of all, I didn't expect to miss you when you left. I expected relief, craved relief, thought finally, after so many years of expectation, maybe finally I'd be able to breath again. You came, an aberration, an anomale, and yes, in your wisdom, an overblown out of proportion dream of lonely nights. You left, today, in all your shaggy glory, a greater part of my life than when you blew in. You are simplicity on acid, you defy my logic, my expectations, my desires. I am more than definitly not over you, but if I were, this wouldn't matter so much, this entire process wouldn't have been so gut wrenching, because the stakes wouldn't have been so damn high. I wanted to hate you, wanted to find my small and itching reasons to have you gone...and I failed. You are my normal. You take me at my worst, you take me at my best, you take me when I am poking and prodding you and making you cry. You have to know, how much it burned that night, watching me destroy you, and knowing that I couldn't come over and put my arms around you and make the world go away. And then, lying on my floor, staring at the ceiling, and feeling your breath and the wind howl, I think somewhere in there I let go. You won't buy this, I know, I can hear you already, chuckling slyly. But its true, I lay there and listened to the rain pound, and felt you with your arms around me, and I realized that its time to learn to enjoy you, to take you for everything you have given to me, take every recollection, every awkard moment, every shy sadness, every hysterical fit of laughter, every time I ran to you, every endless conversation, every hellish daydream, every consolation, every extasy, every joy. I hope you know how much you mean to me...how much deep love and affection I have for you. I hope you know that I meant every word that was said. I hope you know that I will never let you fall through, that I will be around to kick your ass, and I take that very seriously. I hope you know that you are loved.
But darlin', if you ever pull this shit on me again, if you every put me through another week like this one, I will kill you. Know that, too.
The thing that sucks the most about finally having to deal with a small part of yourself, which you have, however unsuccesfully, shelled off from the world for quite some time, is how surreal everything feels. This attraction, this addiction, has been such a lingering persistance for so long now, I expect it to still be buzzing around like a bee, so much so that I almost miss the noise. Almost.
I definitly did not expect to regain some emotional stability out of the hell that has been this week, in fact, I'm not quite sure where this is coming from, but I'll go with it. I just got back from some more bonding time in the appartments, just sitting, talking, being, and for the first time in quite some time I could look around and respect being here, realize being here. Maybe this week shook me just enough to open up again, to expose myself again, that whole fear of vulnerability, violent, petulant, iron gripped. Fear for me is again the duality of life-- the impetus to wall myself off, and the need and motivation to fix it, to look within myself and make some changes. Woman, again you give me the ground under my feet, or remind me where to look.
And now, back on my feet again, there are some changes to be made. I have spent the first three weeks of the semester revelling in feeling out of place, and again out of control. I was that same muffled, shellshocked, creature that I yelled at you for being. I think Amy was more right then I ever wanted to give her credit for, we get very used to our habits of being. Be it depressed, busy, exhausted, enraptured, we learn these behaviors, and thus changing becomes not only the act of changing your mind, but also changing your habits. I can't be that person again, the one that swallowed me whole last year, I can't, and I refuse to be. And that person is exactly the one that I'm recreating for myself back here finally, but I can't do it again. I can't do 21 credits, tutoring, music, working 12-15 hours a week, and mantain any sort of peace. No matter how much I'd like to bury myself in the sand, to craft myself a life here bereft of any and all chance to be with myself, by myself, in my mind, I can't. I won't. So, within a few days, hopefully (unless I loose my nerve...) I'll suck it up and drop music theory, what a revelation, and for the first time in my college carreer only carry 17 credits. Engaging in my world right now means accepting the fact that I don't anymore want to be a music major/minor, and keeping up the facade is really just by force of habit, and that is stupid. Music will be a part of me and will be in my life because it is like breathing, not because I have my name on a piece of paper. Old dreams die slowly, but its time.
Enough.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Black cats, ladders and broken mirrors. That was all fine. Egging that hearse was where we went wrong.
"It is so much easier to live placidly and complaisantly. Of course, to live placidly and complaisantly is not to live at all."- Jack London
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes."- Marcel Proust
"The most glorious moments in your life are not the so-called days of success, but rather those days when out of dejection and despair you feel rise in you a challenge to life, and the promise of future accomplishments."- Gustave Flaubert
"Fear not that your life shall come to an end, but rather it shall never have a beginning"- Cardinal John Henry Newman
So taking that beginning, and seeing where it leads me, I guess. Being back is definitely oh-so-strange, but things have been so crazy awesome so far I haven't really had a chance yet to get sad. I'm loving my mornings, when the fog sits on the hills way off on the other side of the city, and here we all roost like chickens, gazing out from our perch over the quiet green persuasion. I'm loving the rain, sitting nights and listening. Funny how you don't realize the presence of such small...well...the word in russian is a cross between jewelry, decoration, and beautification...Loving seeing everyone, though I loath loath loath all this crazy awkwardness of "OMG hi WHERE were you all last semester?! Abroad? Like, how was it???" I'd rather you not ask, thanks. I don't know you, and you don't know me, and honestly if I have to spit out a "fine, thanks for asking. How was your semester?" one more time, I think I might throw something.
Its so strange to be with out that bottom again, back without the ground under my feet. And yet at the very same time, I feel the most solid that I have in awhile. Was starting to get panicky yesterday, yes, haha what else, due to already piling up music drama. I went to bed last night convinced I was going to drop music theory, for god sakes let it go already. Woke up this morning, went and played some before class, and everything was more than fantastic. It was hell, I mean really, I haven't struck a drum in a reaaaaaaaally long time, and have absolutely less than no chops left over from last May, but it just felt so good. Me flailing around like a retarded 8 year old and all, always has its pick me up value. So relaxing. The impetus, however minute, to turn my brain off and just be, damn it, is most definitely something still eluding me.
I love doing what I do, wandering, travelling, adventuring I mean, because taking me out of whatever situation to which I have become accustomed allows me not to be my pragmatic, logical, self. And I'm back here, and I sense myself getting stressed, and angry, and well, involved, and it irks me. I love being the free spirit, hoping a bus to Latvia on the spur of the moment, because I can. I love not knowing where I'm sleeping that night. I love, well, not having a fucking clue, and having that not matter.
And no, not knowing what the hell I'm doing with my college education DOES NOT COUNT.
Ok, so yes. Maybe I am melodramatic.
"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes."- Marcel Proust
"The most glorious moments in your life are not the so-called days of success, but rather those days when out of dejection and despair you feel rise in you a challenge to life, and the promise of future accomplishments."- Gustave Flaubert
"Fear not that your life shall come to an end, but rather it shall never have a beginning"- Cardinal John Henry Newman
So taking that beginning, and seeing where it leads me, I guess. Being back is definitely oh-so-strange, but things have been so crazy awesome so far I haven't really had a chance yet to get sad. I'm loving my mornings, when the fog sits on the hills way off on the other side of the city, and here we all roost like chickens, gazing out from our perch over the quiet green persuasion. I'm loving the rain, sitting nights and listening. Funny how you don't realize the presence of such small...well...the word in russian is a cross between jewelry, decoration, and beautification...Loving seeing everyone, though I loath loath loath all this crazy awkwardness of "OMG hi WHERE were you all last semester?! Abroad? Like, how was it???" I'd rather you not ask, thanks. I don't know you, and you don't know me, and honestly if I have to spit out a "fine, thanks for asking. How was your semester?" one more time, I think I might throw something.
Its so strange to be with out that bottom again, back without the ground under my feet. And yet at the very same time, I feel the most solid that I have in awhile. Was starting to get panicky yesterday, yes, haha what else, due to already piling up music drama. I went to bed last night convinced I was going to drop music theory, for god sakes let it go already. Woke up this morning, went and played some before class, and everything was more than fantastic. It was hell, I mean really, I haven't struck a drum in a reaaaaaaaally long time, and have absolutely less than no chops left over from last May, but it just felt so good. Me flailing around like a retarded 8 year old and all, always has its pick me up value. So relaxing. The impetus, however minute, to turn my brain off and just be, damn it, is most definitely something still eluding me.
I love doing what I do, wandering, travelling, adventuring I mean, because taking me out of whatever situation to which I have become accustomed allows me not to be my pragmatic, logical, self. And I'm back here, and I sense myself getting stressed, and angry, and well, involved, and it irks me. I love being the free spirit, hoping a bus to Latvia on the spur of the moment, because I can. I love not knowing where I'm sleeping that night. I love, well, not having a fucking clue, and having that not matter.
And no, not knowing what the hell I'm doing with my college education DOES NOT COUNT.
Ok, so yes. Maybe I am melodramatic.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
And the Winner IS....
Final Schedule Reporting- well, minus lessons and ensembles and all that bullshit....
Monday and Wednesday: 8-9 Swimming
10:20-11:20 Music Theory 1
11:30-12:30 Spanish 301
Tuesdays and Thursdays: 9:40-11:10 Intro to Sociology with DasGupta
11:20-12:50 Russian 498= RUSSIAN CLASS OF DOOM
1:50-2:50 Aural Skills 1
and somehow strangely all I've got on Fridays is Spanish 11:30-12:30.
And jesus. Its official. I will fry.
Monday and Wednesday: 8-9 Swimming
10:20-11:20 Music Theory 1
11:30-12:30 Spanish 301
Tuesdays and Thursdays: 9:40-11:10 Intro to Sociology with DasGupta
11:20-12:50 Russian 498= RUSSIAN CLASS OF DOOM
1:50-2:50 Aural Skills 1
and somehow strangely all I've got on Fridays is Spanish 11:30-12:30.
And jesus. Its official. I will fry.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Transitions. Again
"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we will find it not." —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Well said, my friend Emerson. Well said.
Well said, my friend Emerson. Well said.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Hello, Budapest
Well, atleast the train station anway. Slowly I am making my way back towards the surface of the earth, like reemerging from my self created hermit cave. Its bright. And loud. And scary. But alas, tomorow the story ends.
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