Oops

So remember how two posts ago I was all ahead of schedule on that paper?

Yeah, I'm finishing it now. 5 hours before it's due.

Go me.

Conformist

Dear World,

I am sorry to inform you that I have caved. I, after almost 21 years of my life of hating them, own a pair of Uggs.

I blame my mother. She loves them, but not the way that obnoxious college sorority girls love them. She wears them under her jeans, not rolled, and only when it is cold enough to warrant them outside. This being said, she also owns 3 pairs. One year, my dad went out and bought her a new set of the ankle high in light tan, but unfortunately they were a little too big. Into the closet they went to wait for someone to get the motivation or time to exchange them.

A year and a half later, my mother is rummaging through the hall closet, finds them, and throws them at me. "They're comfortable! They're warm!" she said. "HELL NO!" I said, but took them with me anyway, thinking that at the very least I would just let them hang out in my closet until they hopefully deteriorated into nothing.

I was unpacking some stuff this morning, putting some things away and I stumbled across the Ugg box. I picked it up, checking to see the size. It's a 9, there is no way that this could possibly fit. "I know!" I thought so cleverly to myself, "I'll try them on, and then they'll be too small! My mom will have to take them back!" Oh poor, poor choice. They fit like a glove. They're fuzzy, they're squishy, they're warm. They hug your feet. As my mother says, they're happiness for your feet. And, on top of it all, they make my feet look little.

My good ladies and gentlemen, I like them. I... I may even wear them outside the apartment! I may wear them to class! I may go skipping down the streets singing to everyone the newfound joy of Uggs! Ok, maybe not the last one, but gosh darn it, they are comfy.

That, my dear people, is my story.

Procrastination. Possibly #2.

Hey, be proud of me. I'm actually ahead of schedule for schoolwork.

Hence why I'm probably not too upset at the amount of Spongebob and Food Network I've watched over the past few days.

I started research for a 750 word paper a good week before it's due. I have books checked out, I've read them in full.

Be impressed.

I now know more about James Van Der Zee than I think I ever expected to. All in all, he's a pretty cool guy. Trained originally as a concert violinist and pianist, he stumbled across photography in the early 1900s, and ended up documenting the majority of the Harlem Renaissance. He's photographed all kinds of people, from Florence Mills to Bill Cosby. It's kind of awesome. The photos themselves are beautiful, he air brushed and touched up almost all of his photos. His images counter stereotypes of the day, depicting African Americans as refined, graceful, and proud as opposed to the happy-go-lucky slums that the average American envisioned.

This African American Art History class is a lot more interesting than I thought it would ever be. Granted, I like learning new interesting facts, mostly because I like spitting them out to other people later on, but the subject material is really captivating. Some of the paintings are simply gorgeous, and the photography that we've encountered is stunning. We talk about what makes a painting "African American" and if African American artists have an obligation to display their ethnicity in their artwork. We've learned about the history surrounding the artists. It's amazing.

It's just an interesting class, the only thing that is a problem is that the professor believes that the class runs for an hour, not the 50 minutes we're alloted. While it may be only 10 minutes, it's still really irritating. I start losing concentration right at 12:05, and by 12:15 when she lets us out, I've lost all interest at all and have spent more time thinking about what I can eat for lunch and what is at home.

Either way, I'm writing now to put off the whole writing it later. We'll see.

Later all.

A few thoughts

I'm on a downswing.

It's a pretty consistent cycle, up and down, caring and not. It's not even a major downswing, just a hiccup.

Now, why do I want to write this? Maybe I feel guilty that I haven't written in ages, and that the things I have written have been sort of half finished thoughts. Maybe it's just to kill some time so I don't have to work just yet.

I like to pick fights. Every so often, I like starting an argument. If things are going too smoothly, if we're trying to get through a rough patch and it's not getting better, I'll start something. If I don't like you, I'll start something.

Although, it does take an awful lot for me not to like someone.

I think sometimes I'm too judgmental. Then I think I'm much too understanding.

I get angry quickly.

I hate hypocrites. I am one.

I think too much.

I also have a bad habit of holding on to people who make me feel horridly about myself.

Coffee makes me feel hollow. It makes my heart beat too fast and makes everything feel like an echo. I shouldn't drink it, but I do.


I think that's it for today.

Revelation

I have come to the conclusion, that no matter who is around or how many, or who strokes your hair and pats your back and hands you tissues, you will always, always, grieve alone. There is no way to share it or for others to alleviate it, we can only absorb it and watch, and hope that it stops hurting soon.

The Beginning of the End

The start of my senior year has been genuinely good. I mean that my roommates are good, my classes are good, my apartment is good... everything seems to be going smoothly. It kind of makes me wonder what's going to go horribly wrong.

Anyway. My roommates are pretty great. Two of them I absolutely adore and the third is growing on me. It's a good apartment, I have my own room, with my own bathroom, and my own queen sized bed to pass out in every night. The location is maybe 4 or 5 blocks from campus, at least the Old College/Recitation Hall area, which is where most of my classes are. It's about a 10-15 minute walk, which is good exercise in my book.

So far the professor for my American Art History class is pretty good. She doesn't seem to be terribly wrapped up in expectations, the work load is pretty light, and she's a good lecturer. The 50 minutes fly. It also helps that I know a bunch of people in the class.

My African American Art professor is blatantly new at this. She's assigned more work than necessary and has kind of high expectations for a class of 10 people. However, the final project is right up my alley (we're curating an imaginary exhibition) and the material is really interesting so far even if she does include some random unnecessary information in lecture.

Color Mixing and Matching, while tedious, is not so bad. I know a few people in the class, and Hilton is not as scary as I thought he would be. However, we do have to organize 314 color sheets from lightest to darkest disregarding hue. Trying to decide if royal blue is darker than red is starting to make my brain twitch.

20th Century Italian lit is actually really good. I forgot how much my brain misses Italian, and the class seems like a good group of people and the books will be interesting. Plus I love Prof. Salsini, she's awesome, even if she is enforcing the formal Lei on us out of nowhere.

Traditional Japanese Printmaking hasn't met yet. Hopefully it'll be good, at the very least I have my best friend (and roommate) in the class with me.

So far so good, we'll see how the semester progresses.