Tomorrow March 9, 2009

Tomorrow I’m going to call some apartments and find a single one.  Why?  Because I’m not putting myself through the torture of having a roommate next year.  Although the imbicilic roommate makes for good fodder for my blog.  Entertaining people with my stories that I publish every so often doesn’t compensate for the torture I go through many hours of every day to get you those stories.  I’m sure you’ll live.

Spring break is coming up and I’m so excited!  I’m going to my grandparents’ house next Monday.  And then I’m coming back maybe on Thursday (so I don’t have to have my mom nag at me about going to her church with her on Wednesday).  It’s not that I’m against church, I’m just against that church with those people.  I don’t like them and they talk badly about me, so it’s fine.

My book-ban has been going well.  Except spring is making go into a Hemingway and poetry mood.  While I do own a lot of Hemingway, I don’t own much poetry.  I’m hoping to borrow a collection from a friend before she goes to England for two weeks.  I don’t know why spring brings on the Hemingway kick, but it does.  I think it might be because there’s something earthy about spring and there’s something earthy about Hemingway.  But I don’t know.  Freud might have a good analysis.  Or maybe not.  I don’t even know which Hemingway I’d want to read.  I own several.  A Farewell to Arms, Across the River and into the Trees, Hemingway’s Complete Short Stories, Green Hills of Africa, To Have and Have Not, The Old Man and the Sea, The Sun Also Rises, and For Whom the Bell Tolls.  Anyone out there have an opinion?

I enrolled this morning for the summer and fall.  I got into all of the classes I wanted to get into, which was really nice.  We’ll just have to see if this semester doesn’t kill me first.

I did my yoga again this morning.  It’s been a whole week.  I’m proud that I’ve kept it up for that long.  I almost didn’t want to this weekend because on Saturday we did inversions, which consisted of handstands and headstands and the like, and Sunday morning I was bloody tired so after I did my warm up, I thought it best to not do relaxation poses.

This morning at around 5:30 some cat just went ballistic outside my window.  I was dreaming and I thought a baby was crying and then I woke up and realized it was a cat.  But it was too dark outside to see anything.  When I looked later, I saw no dead cats outside so I assume things worked out all right.  But it was absolutely bizarre and I didn’t quite get back to sleep after that, which was unfortunate.  I’m starting to feel the time change, but I’m determined to keep getting up at 6 and doing my yoga.

My life revolves around books so much.  I plan out which books I must read before I can buy more books.  I plan out which books I’m going to bring with me on Spring Break so that I am never caught without a book.  I bring two books to campus with me–one to read before my first class starts and one to read in between classes and at lunch–each day.  I have a book designated for bedtime reading.  I’m not complaining because I love reading; I think it’s the greatest gift ever.  But sometimes I’m a little saddened that I find events in my life reminding me of things I’ve read in books rather than the other way around.  Anyone else feel like that?

I was supposed to do an update on the books I’m reading.  Lolita is the book I read before my first class of the day.  Arthur Schlesinger’s Journals are what I read between classes and at lunch.  And Edgar Sawtelle is my bedtime book.  All three are amazing.  Lolita is one that I’ve started and stopped several times since I’ve bought it.  I’m hoping this time that I can finish it.  The Journals are a really quick read, surprisingly.  They span nearly 50 years of US history.  It’s really interesting to read these entries and know how things are going to happen beforehand.  It has a lot of similarities to reading a novel, but I know that it’s a real person that is telling the story, instead of a character, which is why it makes the big events that happen so much more compelling.  And Edgar Sawtelle has been going along.  I like the way it’s told.  I just haven’t been so dutiful at reading this one for an hour each day as I’d like.

That’s enough for now.