Procrastination - the game we like to play

Everyday when I put my hand in my backpack, the pen I pull out is a surprise. Will I get the dependable black pen? Or the blue ink with the gel comfort grip? The Dr. Scholl's for fingers? (that is an idea I could market) I digress, but yes -- when I hurriedly grab for a writing utensil I never know what I am going to write with. The destiny of my notes, my doodles, and my focus are always hanging in the balance of the cosmos.

I should be focusing on this project I have due tomorrow. I have known about it for weeks. I was in the library six hours straight yesterday, and I plan on a good 10 hours today. There is never a dull moment when you procrastinate.

Sunglasses and Poptarts, don't travel

I have a confession to make - I am living with a man named Harold. The Harold B. Lee Library has been my primary residence for the duration of Summer Term. The other man in my life would be jealous, except William Shakespeare is the reason that I held captive in the arms of the library. I have taken to living like a gatherer, which is much more peaceful than a hunter. My primitive lifestyle has inhibited my inherent cooking flair, and I have been living off of Pop Tarts (brown sugar of course) and Costco brand trail mix. Here is what I have learned, Pop Tarts don't survive in the bottom of a backpack, underneath textbooks. Sunglasses are also prone to the same fate of being smashed to smithereens when placed under the same condition. Who knew highly processed, delicate pastries were comparable to adorable sunglasses? All I know is, when you pull out a dark lense coated in sugar dust, a painful moment will follow. Be prepared if you are going to spend your summer indoors with a textbook and internet research.

The unfortunate side to a sunburn.

I have a sunburn. But now I read the post title, I am left to wonder if there is a fortunate side to a sunburn. Nope. there isn't. Pain. People judging you for your risk of later skin cancer. The incredibly awkward situation of only wearing a bathing suit under your shirt because your shoulders are so burnt. I am certain, there is no upside.
It has been three days since I went reading by the poolside, and I still have residual effect from my outdoor recreation. I did not account for the sensitive nature of my baby-white skin when I thought about soaking up the sun for a nice tan. I don't have a nice tan. I have a skin that resembles a lobster shell. I am finally beginning to heal and I am even wearing long pants today! Long pants are my way of saying, "no, I will not rub aloe vera on my knees during class today, I am captain of my epidermis!"
While we are on the subject of aloe vera, have you ever noticed that it is a lovely green color? The green is chemically enhanced I am sure, simply because the vibrant shade of my favorite medicinal plant contrasts with the pulsating red of my shoulders. It is Christmas on my skin. The contrast between the cool green and the violent red provides an extra cooling sensation that is purely psychological. Who ever thought of making aloe vera extra green, I thank you.
My other sunburn remedy is lavender oil. My Auntie Kristin gave me this olfactory-pleasing herbal solution that is supposed to sooth and heal at the same time, as well as giving my roommates and classmates extra notification of my presence. At least my vanity has been healed. I may be bright red, but I smell like a great aromatherapy substance from bath and body works. Thank heavens for that.
The moral of the story is don't read your exorbitantly large homework assignment by the pool... in a swimming suit... for two hours. Not only will you get a lovely sunburn with funny lines but your text book might get wet. (Mine did not, thankfully) My summer has begun with a monumental sunburn. And now my nose is starting to peel. GREAT.
All is not lost, I have learned for next time. Where can I buy some SPF 90?

Nothing remotely of note.

Today I thought to myself "today is a day to blog!" Yes indeed, I was a determined soul. Nevertheless, I have nothing to blog about, thusly I will write about nothing.

I typically don't have classes until noon, so naturally I sleep in until nine or nine thirty on a daily basis. I wake up, and stumble out with messy hair and casually say hello to my overachieving roommates who have been awake since 6 am. My day then continues with a myriad of homework and marveling that the awkward dating situations of my ward. At night, my roommates and I giggle about silly things and bask in the steady stream of people who come play foosball at our apartment. Indeed, I live a charmed life. Comparable to Seinfeld, my life about nothing is markedly entertaining. Today my roommate LJ told me a great thought... "grades don't get you into heaven, boys do" Brilliant.

I recently have rediscovered my love of Elephant Jokes. Wikipedia has an entry about the history and spread of this logic-defying tidbits of hilarity.

I also have been severely distracted by my Shakespeare class. Kenneth Branagh is a genius! (but maybe not the best looking blonde in Hamlet) I have decided that it is really hard on me when a beloved actor changes hair color. Case and Point: Julie Andrews is a much better brunette in Mary Poppins than as a blonde in The Sound of Music. That is just how I feel.

Miley Cyrus and I have a mutual understanding. She doesn't know I exist, and I pretend she doesn't. Needless to say, my opinion only changes when I listen to Party in the USA. How can you not nod your head like yeah? After months and months of deeper study of the English language and higher forms of rhetoric, how could I resist?

Now, having delved into several paragraphs about nothing, I will conclude with a photo, as it is commonly known blogs are more interesting when photos are included.

(I had just told an elephant joke)

Psalming, poetry of praise.

I am in a Bible as Literature class right now, during my stressful stressful semester! This is an English class, not a religion class and I really enjoy delving into the character qualities of our biblical heroes. Anyways, we were reading in Psalms today, and I had to write one of my own. Naturally, I decided to share it here, um, enjoy?

I see Thy hands, Thy works cause me to rejoice.
Thy hands that hath blessed the sick,
Thy hands that hath healed the lame,
Thy hands that hath calmed the child,
Thy hands that had created the heavens and the earth.

I see thy hands, holding mine hands.
Mine hands that could lift the hands that hang down,
Mine hands that could plant the seeds of thy word,
Mine hands that could serve the weak,
Mine hands that could be thy hands.

I see Thy hands, Thy works cause me to rejoice.

Ode to the Crayola Crayon

I am in a class that requires creativity above what you would typically expect in a college course. My creativity has come forth via the medium of crayons. I love coloring! Needless to say, the crayons need to be crayola brand, because rose art just never makes the cut. I also love having a brand preference, because it makes me seem like I know what I am talking about. Long story short, I feel that these little crayons deserve a little more love.

The smooth blend of colors create vibrant depictions of novelty characters. In my coloring book of My Little Pony or Sesame Street, the rich tones make Pinkie Pie and Elmo come alive. The sharpened tips stay inside the lines. The color names that are hyphenated with additional adjectives are only appropriate for the crayons in 96 packs and the paint chip aisle at Home Depot. "Into the abyss blue" or "Purple Mountains Majesty" or "Timberwolf". Every crayon has the name of the color in three languages, making sure that the world can understand what precise shade is about to be employed for the perfect sky blue. Crayons are the first artistic tool given to children and they never should be put to rest. Crayons make me smile. Crayons convey my feelings about purplish hues. Crayons make me feel expressive in a way that colored pencils can't. Crayons are made to be broken. Crayons are simple, whether they come in a set of 4 or 44.

Thank you, Crayola.

Savoring Sentences and Pondering Prose

I love being an English major. I may have to tell myself that every single day, but yes, I do enjoy learning more about the crafting of my mother tongue. Literature is the only way I know of to express feeling in a manner that heals both the reader and the writer. Thusly, I would like to say thank you to the million and a half poets I have had to read in the last year of my life. :)
My new Spring term classes are keeping me very occupied, and I have found myself reading many more pages and not maintaining my high standards of clean. Oh sorted laundry, I miss you and I am sorry that the white clothes have been haphazardly thrown in with the dark wash jeans. Oh stainless steel kitchen sink, I am sorry that I have not been paying attention to you with my homemade vinegar cleaning solution and a soft cloth. Oh textbooks, the heart of my diverted attention, I am sorry you are not neatly stacked and not organized according to subject. I must get back to my passion of savoring sentences, but I am sorry that I have been too busy to properly clean.