Unleashing the crazy

Hey!  You!  Read this and give me some life advice to ignore!
On with it.
I'm not really sure what I'm doing with my life, like at all.  If you've been reading for a while, you will have noticed that this is a trend.  It's a major trend, I would say.
Welp.  I am a world-class worrier.
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Plaid.

It's a big deal around here.  And stripes.

Merry Christmas, everyone.
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Fiction Friday!

Hey!  If you're here from Mr. Stonebender's blog, welcome.  If you're not here from Mr. Stonebender's blog, welcome!  Remember this?  It's revised!  It's been all prettied up, and this! Is! It!  Yay!  Other fiction by me is all right here, if you'd like to check that out as well.  Enjoy!

Legs in a Tangle

These words are best read out loud, starting slowly and quietly and gradually getting faster and louder and a little scary. A lot scary. The kind of scary that most of us keep buried, deep down where no one can see us ever and we can all act normal on the outside. Smile for the picture, honey. Smile and look pretty.
We've known each other for a long time, haven't we? Was it you who I met years ago, on that night turned morning, don't you remember that? I think I remember it. I thought it happened, but maybe it was all in my head. A lot of stuff was all in my head, back then. But you said that I could conquer it all.
A lot of stuff is all in my head now.
We are holding hands and then I walk away because it's cold rainy I want to go inside inside inside, but you're here and I want to stay with you. You make it okay, you make me stronger. You should come inside, why not stay a while, but you have to go someplace else, someplace important, someplace without me.
I go inside anyway, go home, open the door and close it, sit with my back against it, legs in a tangle of smooth black on the floor, shoes have disappeared somehow and I can't look anyone in the eye, not that there's anyone to look at but you know what I mean? I stare at me and I worry about what's going to happen and I worry about what's already happened and I worry about the things that are happening right this very instant and bam! There's no getting out now, we're in this for the long run, we're in it together. You are stuck, my friend.
That's a lie. I'm all alone. It's okay. I keep telling myself that - I'm okay with it, I'm alone and I like it that way, I'm alone and I don't have to care what anyone else thinks because I am me, and I am good with that, right? Everything about me says something else, everything about me says no it hurts you, doesn't it? It has to hurt you too!
It doesn't.
(I tell myself that lie too.)
I grab onto my hip bone, I love having bones that stick out like that, protrude, and I tug and tug at it, until I can pull it out. I hear a crack at the back, and it's a little bloody, but I don't mind, I've seen blood before, enough to stop caring.
I can't stand up now, but who has to know, I throw my bones across the room, and look back down, down at me. I can conquer it all, I can conquer the world. I want to go away, I want to melt right now. You see, it's not that I want to die, it's that I just want to stop existing. I want to not be awake. Can we make that happen, you and me, together? Just stop being?
Oh wait. It's just me, now.
I pull my tights down a little bit, then trace the scars, up and down my other hip, graceful, beautiful curves, stretching to touch my ribcage and down to my thigh. I did them one by one, each marks a different occasion of hatred pain regret. Ribcage. I need to tear that apart too. Fingernails to sternum, tear at it until it cracks in half and pull it apart too, now there's lungs squishy and exposed and still, somehow, doing their thing.
I stopped doing my thing a long time ago. It must've been something, right? Right? I did something, I was someone. I must've been.
I remember numbers though, before, numbers that I took to heart, numbers that I used build a body for me to live in. Who wants to be a person when you can be data? When we went off into your world, my binary body felt just like home. I want to be row after row of zeros and ones, take the feelings right out of it.
I hate feelings. They're messy and bloody and I wanted to be bone rather than flesh. I don't need to be that human.
Palm to forehead, I claw an eye or two out, and now I can't see, but what was there to see, what was there in the first place? Nothing worth the effort, I think. Nothing worth getting out of bed in the morning. I'm going to sleep now, there's no more reason to be awake. I'm going to dead now, there's no more reason to be alive.
I stand up. We can't be so pathetic now, can we? We keep on going, because we are strong, just as strong as we can pretend to be. It's harder to pretend on your own. I picked up my pieces and put them back where they belong, stretching the skin to fit over them and sewing it back into place.

 Conquering it all, just like you said.

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I just wanted to show you

My four favourite A Softer World comics of all time.
In chronological* order.
Here They Are, Love.
I might've just posted this on my blog so that I could close out of the tabs on Chrome and not feel like I was losing something.  Maybe.
Let's forever remember December 22, 2011 as the day Door Sixteen, who I love and adore, tweeted me.  Let's also remember it as the day I looked like an idiot in front of her.  NBD.
Also, big things are happening in the future involving fiction.  And it'll probably be very exciting very soon.  I'm pumped for it, pretty much.
Christmas is the day after tomorrow.  That's odd, isn't it?  I mean, I'm sitting three feet away from my Christmas tree, but it doesn't feel like Christmas yet.  Is it the astonishing lack of snow?  Is it the fact that I haven't sung any carols this year?  Who knows.  Huh.
*I spelled "chronological" right on the first try.  Like a boss.

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Up at night

In the part of yesterday morning before the sun rose, so I can consider it the night before last.  Or last night.  Or whatever.
I was trying to go to sleep, it was past five, I wasn't tired enough to sleep, i had too much going on in my head.  Like always.

So.  Yeah.  I made a list of all the stuff I wanted to write a blog post about, all the stuff that I needed to get rid of, and now I'm turning that list into a blog post!  Yay!
Fear: I'm not quite sure why fear was on the list.  But, um, fear.  It controls people sometimes, and that's a problem.  Or maybe it's a good thing.  Maybe it's all that's keeping us safe, sometimes.
Don't know how to live:  Do you ever get that feeling where you wonder if you're doing everything (or anything) right?  This is your time/youth and you're wasting it doing *insert thing that I'm doing* when you should be doing something better/worthwhile/productive.  I get that feeling a lot.  I generally learn to cope with it, in whatever crippled way I can manage.  Eh.
Other people and being social:  It used to happen, like a lot, that I'd be sitting at home, being bored, doing nothing and wishing that my friends were free.  Right now, when we're on break, it seems like everyone else is feeling the same way.  In theory, this results in more social activity, and so far, it has.  This is positive.  I like doing things with people.
The next thing on the list is Tavi/my general feelings about fashion and feminism and a lot of stuff.  That's going to take a while to talk about, I'm putting it at the end of this post.  Instead, let's talk about the Beerhorsts.  They live really close to my friend and they are a family of crazy artist hippies in the best way possible and I kind of want to be like them.  And this kid?  I think we should be best friends.  No joke.
It seems like it's all about being happy, and I like that.
The next bullet is Makena/BYU/Mormons/Religion- I'm not quite sure what I had to say about that conglomerate of topics, except that Makena was trying to convince me to come to BYU for school.  Um...I think it is not going to happen.  But it was worth a shot.  And, I mean, Brett Helquist went there, and we all know the passion with which I love him.  And Ken Jennings, QuizBowl rockstar.
Living in the present:  It's good!  It feels alive!  I should do it all the time!
What if I drop out of college and make some bad choices to write a book about later:  To be honest, dropping out of college is forever on the radar of my life.  That's probably not going to change until I'm done with college, when it will no longer be an option, because it's looking like grad school is seriously not on the radar of my life.  MFAs are a little useless.  A lot useless, unless you want to teach, and I don't want to teach art.  I can maybe see myself teaching writing.  I just wonder if I'm getting what I want out of school and such.  And I kind of wonder if I would like the average college experience.  Judging by what my friends have said, it involves a lot of alcohol.  However, the idea of making bad choices solely to write about later is kind of entertaining.  I've always kind of wished that I could quit college and write.
The next bullet point is "Lesbian Sherlock Holmes?  Yay for Sherlock!"  Which...I can't explain.  At all.  Except that...SHERLOCK IS COMING BACK IN JANUARY AHHHHH!  AND I SAW SHERLOCK HOLMES 2 AND IT WAS STELLAR!!!!!  I'm not sure about the lesbian part of that.  But, um, yeah.
I've been staying up far too late and waking up far too late as of late.  This will have to change tomorrow/today, as I'm going to have to leave the house at one in the afternoon.  I'm debating about whether I should stay up all day/night or just try to sleep a bit and wake up at ten or so.  Agh.  I want to be a little more normal in this regard.
The final point is this, except incredibly misspelled - "I want all the people I like to be in the same place all the time" so that we can hang out all the time and they can grow very irritated with me.  Obviously.
That point from earlier that I didn't talk about earlier just because it would've taken forever:  If you haven't seen it already, watch this video.  If you have seen it already, watch it again for good measure.  I'll wait.




My mother never told me that I had to be pretty.  I had to be clean.  I had to be clothed.  I was told I was pretty, but pretty, surely, was not what mattered.  Smart mattered.  Creativity mattered.  Pretty was never that important.  Just like boys, it was nice to have around, sometimes, but surely not all that I should care about.  I am thankful for that.  But as a result of all that, I'm not a person who thinks about their clothes very much.  I wear things that I prettymuch am okay with, but I'm getting to the point where I want a little more than prettymuch okay with how I dress.  This is probably because of The Sartorialist (who I'm not linking to because he's a jerk who doesn't like TAVI, who is a genius rockstar who I adore) and the pretty art school kids.  They all dress really well, even the ones who don't shower very often.  I want to care more about how I dress and what I look like, but I'm not quite sure what I want to dress like.  There are a lot of times when I want to wear a uniform, essentially, the same thing every day.  Like a white shirt and jeans, adding a sweater and scarf when it's cold.  Then, there are other times when I want to look pretty and feminine and wear dresses with ballet flats, and there are other times when I want to layer a bunch of crazy mismatched things that somehow go together just perfectly.
I know I don't have to choose just one, but I would really like to settle on one thing to be happy with one style.  Is that too much to ask for?  I just want to have a personal style without thinking about it too much.
And if I ever get grey hair, I'm going to cut it short and dye it crazy colours and I won't care what anyone thinks about it.

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A sense of place

This place is interchangeable with every other suburb in the upper midwest, or the rest of the country, for that matter.  There's no soul.  There's nothing.
I was trying to think of something to do here.  What do people do for fun, anyway?  They go shopping?  They go smoke weed in the woods?  What else is there to do?  This is how I got started doing creative stuff, I think.  I didn't love it so much as I was thankful for something to do.
Being back here makes me feel like I'm in high school, in the worst way possible.  It's all the terrible stuff (being bored, hating everything) without any of the good stuff (seeing your friends every day at school, quizbowl).  It's odd, isn't it?  I'm not saying that I love Grand Rapids, as a place, because deep down, I don't.  It's a stepping stone, a stop on the way to someplace big.
It's motivating, at the very least.  A few days here and you're willing to try as hard as you can to get out.

It's alright though, I have all the commas I need.  I'm going to watch The Virgin Suicides sometime soon and write this damn novel.  And find some people to hang out with.

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Odd Fiction Saturday. It's a thing. I promise.

These words are best read out loud, starting slowly and quietly and gradually getting faster and louder and a little scary. A lot scary.
We are holding hands and then I walk away because it's cold rainy I want to go inside inside inside, but you're here and I want to stay with you. I go inside anyway, go home, open the door and close it, sit with my back against it with my legs in a tangle of black on the floor, shoes have disappeared somehow and I can't look anyone in the eye, not that there's anyone to look at but you know what I mean? I stare at me and I worry about what's going to happen and I worry about what's already happened and I worry about the things that are happening right this very instant and bam! Now we're down the rabbit hole. There's no getting out now, we're in this for the long run, and we're in this together.
That's a lie. I'm all alone. It's okay. I'm okay with that. I keep telling myself that, I'm okay with it, I'm alone and I like it that way, I'm alone and I don't have to care what anyone else thinks because I am me, and I am good with that, right? Everything about me says something else, everything about me says no it hurts you, doesn't it?
It doesn't.
I tell myself that lie too.
I grab onto my hip bone, I love having bones that stick out like that, protrude, and I tug and tug at it, until I can pull it out. It's a little bloody, but I don't mind, I've seen blood before, enough to stop caring. I can't stand up now, but who cares, I throw my bones across the room, and look back down, down at me. I want to go away, I want to melt right now. You see, it's not that I want to die, it's that I just want to stop existing. I want to not be awake. Can we make that happen, you and me, together? Oh wait. You're not here anymore. Asshole. It's just me, now. Dammit.
I pull my tights down a little bit, then trace the little scars, up and down my other hip, graceful, beautiful curves, stretching to touch my ribcage and falling like feathers onto my thighs. Ribcage. I need to tear that apart too. Fingernails to sternum, crack it half and pull it apart too, now there's lungs squishy and exposed and still, somehow, doing their thing.
I stopped doing my thing a long time ago. I can't even remember what it was now.
I remember numbers though. There were a lot of numbers, before, numbers that I took to heart, numbers that I used to make myself into a person, a person I never could be. Who wants to be a person when you can be data? I want to be binary, I want to be row after row of zeros and ones, take the feelings right out of it.
Palm to forehead, I claw an eye or two out, and now I can't see, but what was there to see, what was there in the first place? Nothing worth the effort, I think. Nothing worth getting out of bed in the morning. I'm going to sleep now, there's no more reason to be awake.

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Semester in review?

Is it weird to do a semester in review mere weeks before you write your year in review post?  Should they just be lumped together?  Are they fully seperate, or is it a more integrated, holistic thing?  Did I accidentally schedule three quote of the months for the same day?
Does anyone really care?
I'm going to lump them together.  I'm lazy.
This year:  OH MY GOSH, SO MUCH FREAKING DYING.  Hi guys, let's all set a goal for 2012 and call it "STAY ALIVE, FOOL"  We're not going to die next year.  Three people from my family, three people from school.  That's enough, kthnx.
This semester: I learned a lot.  I felt like a failure a lot.  I probably did the best in Written Rhetoric, which I'm slightly worried about.  Does this mean that I should reconsider my whole life and all my choices ever?  YEP.  Does it mean that I'm going to change anything?  NOPE.  Is this all for the best?  Probably.
I hated 2D with the firey passion of a thousand suns, but I passed it.  I was okay in Intro to Furniture, and I generally liked Design Drawing.  Apparently DD is supposed to be really difficult and everyone hates it.  I guess I am an anomaly?  I figured that out a while ago.  Also, ART HISTORY.  It was wonderful.  Like, awesome.  Sigh.  Art history.
What else do I have to say?  Some sweeping statement about how I've grown and changed and become the person who I am today through perserverence and DAMNIT, I QUIT NANOWRIMO AND SOMETIMES I HATE MYSELF FOR IT.

Yeah.  I'm feeling a little erratic right now.  I'm going to go write.  Or sleep, for that matter, since I've been up for a while.  Maybe a Fiction Friday?  Maybe a Fiction Saturday?  Who knows!  The possibilities, they're endless!

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Quote of the Month

"Fiction is the only way I can even begin to twist my lying memories into something true."
John Green


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Quote of the Month

"Novelists have, on the average, about the same IQs as the cosmetic consultants at Bloomingdale’s department store. Our power is patience. We have discovered that writing allows even a stupid person to seem halfway intelligent, if only that person will write the same thought over and over again, improving it just a little bit each time. It is a lot like inflating a blimp with a bicycle pump. Anybody can do it. All it takes is time."
Kurt Vonnegut


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Quote of the Month

“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art—write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can; and I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. ”
Neil Gaiman

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A jumbled up bunch of stuff.

Today it feels like my face is puffy and misshapen, but we're going to write that off to the fact that it is winter and my nose is dripping and I only have class seven more times this semester. Yay! Well...a little bit "Yay!", and a little bit "Fuck!"

I'm not quite ready to do a semester in review yet, but I will be.  It'll happen at some point, and when it does, I hope that it'll be deeply interesting.  Deeply interesting to people who, you know, care.
I'm writing a book next weekend, you know.  It's gonna be awesome.   The same kind of awesome that you feel when you are doing something incredibly hard but incredibly fulfilling, where it sucks in the moment, but looking back, everything was right and you were so alive, right then.
I want to feel alive.  I want that part of me to wake up again.

Sometimes (a lot of the time, all the fucking time) I wonder if i should pursue just writing and ditch design.  I worry that I might like writing more than design, and that if I do, what am I doing with my life.  Then I remember identifying every visible car when I was fourteen, I remember discovering Apartment Therapy and midcentury modern and being able to put a name and a face to the styles I loved, and realizing that the kitchen table when I was little?  That was a Saarinen.  Both are right for me, I think, and I'll probably ping-pong between the two for the rest of my life, with a little outdoorsyness thrown in, for good measure.

It's good to get squares together.  I have four squares left.  I'm going to conquer the beast.  Also, I tweeted my thousandth tweet today.  How's that for some alliteration up in hurr?

My APUSH teacher referred to the test as conquering the beast.  Like, "On May 7th, you will go into room 160, and you will conquer the beast."
I think it sucks that I was born during AP's, and in a time that first communions frequently fall on, especially given the Catholicism of my dad's side of the family, and the Protestantism of my own family.  I went to first communion parties on my birthday, more than once.
We're getting off topic now.  I need to study so that I don't fail Art History and die sad and alone.  That's what happens to you if you fail Art History.

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Plan

I have a plan.  I'm going to be a beast in the rest of this class, then I'm going to leave school, go to Lowe's, get the stuff I need for my table project situation, go home, sleep forever, then wake up.  If I wake up early enough, I'll work on the table model for a while.  If I don't, then I'll just go to work.  After work, I'll go and study my butt off for art history for a few hours, then come home and do some squares.  Then art history.  Then more squares, and I have to rewrite a paper at some point.

Fun weekend, eh?  I'll have time next weekend to do fun stuff, like write the awesome novel of awesomeness that will be so awesome, and...probably just do that.  I'll go home at some point too.  I mean , I have to.  I have a legal obligation to be home for Christmas and make an appearance at the New Year's Day party.  

I'm thinking a lot about social interaction and the anatomy of friendships and such lately.  Moral of the story: I think the only reason it feels like I'm barely doing anything social at all is that I spent all summer constantly surrounded by people.  And I need to make more friends in GR.

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Researched.

I wrote a research paper.  On the morning that I finished it, I was an absolute trainwreck, so this thing probably sucks.  You should still read it though, because I'm totally right.

Nineteen Years Later

The Harry Potter series would have ended in a way that better satisfied the fans had it not included the epilogue. Harry Potter had all the traits of a successful series. The characters grew throughout the series, and the plot gets more and more complex as the series goes on. The epilogue, for most fans of the books, was entirely unnecessary. Everyone who cares had already decided how things ended for themselves. J.K. Rowling has said that “It would have been humanly impossible to answer every single question that fans have. Because I am dealing with a level of obsession in some of my fans that will not rest un till they know the middle names of Harry's great great grandparents.” (Rowling) yet she tries to answer all the questions that fans have in a matter of pages. Instead of achieving the desired goal of tying up loose ends, the epilogue only serves to cement in cannon a single version of the story, crushing all other possible endings. Fans of the books wanted to know what happens next, but they didn't want that in the form of an epilogue. What they wanted was another book, and then another one after that, but that can't happen. J.K. Rowling can't write Harry Potter books forever. This is acceptable and fans of the books realize this, but they want books, and the epilogue was exactly what they didn't want. They wanted story, not a happily ever after cop out ending.
Most readers decided upon their own ideas of what happens to the characters after the books ended, and whatever J.K. Rowling says about it isn't going to change what they believe. J.K. Rowling repeatedly stated that Harry and Hermione were not going to be in a relationship and that Ron and Hermione were endgame, that is, would be together at the end of the series. However, there are over 13,485 stories categorized as romance with Harry and Hermione on Fanfiction.net. There are 15,844 stories categorized as romance with Ron and Hermione on the same website. Ron and Hermione end up together in the books, which explains the reasons that there are more stories for their pairing, but the fact that there are less than 3,000 stories difference between these pairings shows that fans will write whatever they want, not what J.K. Rowling writes in the books. There are nearly 26,000 stories for the Draco and Hermione pairing, which was never hinted at in the books, and had essentially no chance of happening. (Fanfiction.net) This further proves that fans have different endings for the characters in these books, and do not need to have J.K. Rowling's future forced upon them.
Harry Potter was wildly popular, a worldwide phenomenon that changed a generation of kids. A major part of the Harry Potter phenomenon is the films. Regardless of how they feel about the films as a whole, most fans wholeheartedly agree that the epilogue did not work on film (Mapes). The makeup used to age the actors by nineteen years looked fake and awkward, and the lack of action did not translate well to time on screen. If anything, the epilogue only came off worse when it was on screen. The movie, just like the book, was a fantastic story, but it was less than great when it came to the very end.
The final book had a death toll unmatched by all the previous books combined. The other main issue that people took with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was the pacing towards the beginning, particularly in the fact that J.K. Rowling allowed Harry, Ron, and Hermione to spend nearly a third of the book on a fruitless camping trip. There was a huge conflict in the character's minds and in the reader's minds between hallows and horcruxes, the characters never knew which one they needed more. It's hard to maintain reader attention between two factors like this. Combined, these leave the reader bored and heartbroken. Bored and devastated is a bad situation in itself, but when you add a greatly unsatisfactory epilogue, readers will rise up in revolt. This dissatisfaction is what motivated one dedicated fan to write the song “Book Eight.” Some lyrics of this song include “I want J.K. Rowling to say/ That the epilogue was crap,/ 'Cause we all know it was crap!” and “I know I'm not the the only one/Who wants to know more about Harry's sons.” (Green) the latter of which refers to the bits of information that the readers are given in the epilogue and wanting more of the story behind what we see at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Rather than giving her readers a vague hint of what happened after Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling should have saved them the pain of seeing the characters who they loved for years have endings that were different from what they had planned. It is always better to have less story, but please more people with the story that you give them, and this is a message that J.K. Rowling seems to have missed out on. All authors share the ownership of their characters and their stories with their readers and fans. The more a reader loves a book and the characters in a book, the more they feel as though they are a part of the series, and that they should have input on the way the books happen. Of course, they have no actual input, but going directly against what the fans want is not a good way to treat the people who have built an author's career. I'm not advocating playing into only what the fans want, but listening to fan input and opinions would be a good idea for many authors.
The epilogue deviated from the rest of the series in its overall feel. The other books never let the reader believe that the characters lived happily ever after, which left most readers hungry for more story. The goal in the end of the final book was not to leave readers wanting more story, but to tie up loose ends. J.K. Rowling said that Harry tries to create for his family the peace and calm he never had as a child (Brown), the happily ever after that never happened in seven books and should not have been tacked onto the end. If J.K. Rowling wanted to show an ending, this goal could have been achieved in other ways. For instance, if there had been some discussion of the future in the final book, J.K. Rowling’s concepts of how the characters fared after the books were over could have been incorporated naturally.
With the epilogue, the readers are given bits of information that isn't useful without the context to support it. In interviews that she gave after Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, she elaborated on the backstory, and with the announcement of Pottermore in June 2011, it was determined that J.K. Rowling would be releasing more information about the world that she created. If she had plans for all of this, which she probably did, she should have not included the epilogue in the book. With Pottermore and the rest of the fan community on the internet, readers can learn and theorize about what happened to their favorite characters to their heart's content, regardless of the existence of the epilogue. For readers who care to learn more, the epilogue is irrelevant. For readers who don't care to find more out on their own, the epilogue is unnecessary.
The epilogue was greatly unsatisfactory and made Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows a less stellar than it could have been. Harry Potter will be continued, carried on by fans of the books, but it will not be following the trend of “Nineteen Years Later” in letting everyone live happily ever after. The series thrived on conflict throughout, and it will not be changing now.
Bibliography
Brown, Jen. "Finished 'Potter'? Rowling Tells What Happens Next." Today. MSNBC, 26 July 2007. Web. 22 Nov. 2011. .
FanFiction.net. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 Nov. 2011.
Green, Hank, narr. Book Eight. 2008. Vlogbrothers. Web. 22 Nov. 2011. .
Mapes, Marty. "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Part 2." Movie Habit. Gawker Artists, 15 July 2011. Web. 22 Nov. 2011.
Rowling, Joanne K. Interview by Meredith Vieira. "JK Rowling One-On-One: Part One." Today Show. NBC. 26 July 2007. Web. 22 Nov. 2011. .
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Yeah. Everything.

Today was pretty eventful.
I don't think that I'm going to be writing my NaNoWriMo for the rest of this month.  Yes, this is the first year when I've just said that I was done.  Yes, I do have a good reason for doing this.  Yes, I have thought this out.  No, I have not discussed this with anyone else yet.  Yes, I do plan on continuing to write the novel.  Yes, I still like my novel.  Yes, I still want to write.  My wordcount is 13,702 right now.  This is not impossible to recover from.  I am confident in my ability to recover from this kind of a deficit.  I'm choosing not to.
I sound like a robot.
I don't feel bad about this.  I don't feel like I'm losing.  I don't feel like I'm quitting.  I think that this specific novel and this specific month were a match made in hell.

So, in other news, today was my carrer day at school.  For the furniture department.  The first person who came in was this guy who talked about finishing.  For his job, he invents new ways to finish furniture.  ALL DAY LONG.  For one of them, he painted a piece, then threw rice on the wet paint, then waited a while, then scraped the rice off, sanded it a little, then put gold leaf on, then silkscreened a design on top of the gold leaf.  WOAH SUPER EPIC AWESOME.
I took a lot of notes.

I learned a lot of things.  I learned that back in the day, Kendall basically funneled designers into Baker.  That's not so true anymore, which is probably a good thing.  I learned what you want to have in a portfolio, and that one of the guys in the furniture department is a totally amazing incredible woodworker. Like, woah.

And here's a picture from the tour of Grand Rapids Chair Company that I took.

Shiny.

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Hey

Girl.  Hey.
I really just said that to facilitate the linkage up in hurr.
I'm awkward*.  Everyone knew that, right?
Watch this video.


Faber Castell from eric yeo on Vimeo.

Mmmhmm.  VERMEEEEEER.  Vermeer.  Vermeer.

I'm thinking about things that I love right now.  I love Manhattan Nest so freeking much.  I want to move in with him and Max and so that we can hang out with Door Sixteen and party hard.  When I say "Party hard" I mean "Let's go to CB2 and then to MOMA and talk about pretty things." That would be a fantastic day.  And Brick House** can hang out with us too.
Guess who has a lot of homework?  Guess who isn't doing their homework right now!  Guess who's not writing their novel right now either!  Guess who's going to be really freeking screwed!
It's, um, me.

Watch Marcel.  Marcel.  Marshell...





Also, follow this kid if you're a tumblrer.  Or even if you're not a tumblrer.  Tumblrite.  He's pretty legit.  I know him irl.

Do you have enough links?  Are you linked up?  Are you sufficiently distracted from that, um, novel thing?

Welcome to my life.  I have no idea what I'm doing here.  I am thinking of stories and storytelling and people and the way they relate to each other.  I love this novel, still.  I love writing, I really love it.  I hope that I'll never be in a situation where I have to choose between writing and design, because whenever I ask myself, I constantly go back and forth.  As for NaNo, I'm deeply worried that it's not going to happen in November.  I feel like I can't give this the attention it deserves while I still try to do well in school, and I have to do well in school.  If I don't do well in school, I'm going to have to drop out of college and move in with my parents and flip burgers for the rest of my life and die sad and alone.  Okay, well, maybe not all of that would happen, but if I didn't do well in school this year, I would probably have to go back to that town and go to community college.

I had kind of thought "Retard" as an insult had gone the way of "Gay" as an insult, but I guess people still say that?  I'm kind of confused by this.  I don't say it, and I have my reasons, but other people do?

*I'm thinking about people and the way we consider our physical appearances and how we talk about that. I don't look awesome, and I'm totally fine with that.  I just...It's weird.  I feel like I said something that made me seem like a pompous douchebag, but I'm not, and...yeah.  Awkward.
**If your first reaction to this tumblr isn't "HOLY MOLY I NEED ALL OF THIS STUFF IN MY LIFE" then I'm pretty sure we can't be friends.  Go home.  To The Brick House.

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Quote of the Month

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."
Oscar Wilde

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Today.

11.11.11.
Yep.
I went to the IIDA furniture factory tour today.  It was interesting and informative.   Yay for interesting and informative!  I expected to see a lot of Kendall students, but it was just two of us, and the chair of the furniture department, and one of the interior design professors.  The guy who gave our tour was the owner of Grand Rapids Chair Company*, and the whole thing was just...really cool.  POWDER COATING.  I WANT TO LEARN HOW TO DO IT.  ALSO, I WILL LEARN TO WELD.   Yep.  Those were really interesting.  I need to get my build on and try to make some stuff.  It can't be that hard, can it?
I know it was an IIDA thing, but I can't help but be surprised by the number of girls who were very obviously interior design students who were there.  Despite my best efforts, I will never, ever pass for one of them.
I'm thinking a lot about sustainability in design.  I like modern things, and I like Ikea, and I like the fast paced consumption of the newer greater thing.  Is that bad?  I like things that are sleek and shiny a lot of the time.
I watched Objectified the night before last (It was good.  You should watch it.  Kendall's library has a copy.) and one of the designers was talking about his father's briefcase, which he inherited, saying that it's gorgeous and gets better with time, like wine.  Basically, you want to design wine, not pop.**  That's possible with shoes, right?  And jeans, sometimes.  And cast iron anything.  Other than that though, what do you own that has gotten better with age?  Tell me, please.  In the comments.
I'm just feeling conflicted.  I like new and shiny and RTA and everything, but I'm in love with the idea of having products that you can just love and rely upon.  I want to own beautiful things.  I need to have a great purge of products and only allow things that are perfect and deserving of love into my life.
*It was great, but it would have been better if there wasn't Comic Sans involved.  Like, a lot of Comic Sans.
**The other thing I learned from this movie:  Karim Rashid looks a little bit like what would happen if Tim Burton and an alien had a child together.  In the best way possible.

I think it's the glasses.  Think of Tim Burton's glasses, then look at Karim Rashid.  See what I mean?  Also, if you tweet about Karim Rashid, some company that he's involved with will follow you.

Part Two:
You didn't know this was going to come in parts, did you?  Well, I'm happy that you were so surprised.
Did I tell all y'all that I'm writing a novel?  It's lovely!  It's amazing!  It's far shorter than it should be!  So yep, my plans for this weekend involve writing, doing an art history project with a friend, writing some more, maybe hanging out with some friends, doing my horrible 2D project of death and despair and pain, and doing my design drawing homework.  And writing.  For design drawing, we're illustrating.  We have to take text (the first few paragraphs of The Hobbit) and draw a picture.  Draw a picture about the text.  Like, take the things described in the text, and draw them.  We have to draw them in COLOUR too.  This concept is deeply stressful.  I came to school so that I could draw furniture!  I don't know how to think this way!

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POOP.

I'm really far behind on my NaNo!  Yay!  Love my life.  Woohoo.

Crap.

It's way too early to be this far behind.

Crap.

And I have to spend two hours driving home today.  That's two hours that I can't spend writing.  Crap.

But hey, it's Gustavus Adolphus day, and also my half-birthday.  So you know, that's a nice non-event.

Crap.

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November!

Hi!  It's November, also known as NaNoWriMo, or TheMonthWhereISeemLikeIHaveADHD, or HolyCrapWhenDidCollegeGetDifficult or EwwwGrossMyHairIsFallingOutFromTheStress or ThisIsTheTimeOfYearWhenIGetTheMostHitsIDecayWhy.  It's a fun time.  I slept for about two hours this morning, and I feel wide awake.  My cousin came over because he has an AAA plus membership and I need to get my car towed a hundred miles away from here, but once he got here and we called, he realized that he didn't have that kind of membership.  So...that was kinda bad.  But it was good to see him.
I was kind of planning to stay up all night because I have ten hundred thousand million drawings for Design Drawing that I need to redo so that I don't fail the class and die sad and alone*, but then I curled up in my bed around five.  And got a call saying that my cousin was outside my house at 7:10, dealt with the situation, cousin leaves, I register for classes, and then I blog.  That's how the story always ends.  I think I'm going to try to finish the drawing I'm working on right now, then go to school and draw some more and go to class.  Today, I may be crossing the line into consuming energy drinks.  I'm surprised it's taken this long.  Energy drinks are kind of like meat: I'm capable of consuming it, I see other people consume it, but I just...don't.
My wordcount is shit.**  I am not worried about this in the least.  I have all weekend and no functioning car and nothing to do, so I can see myself camping out on the couch for hours, days, weeks on end and writing my heart out.  Although, as I was writing this, my mom called and asked if I wanted to come home for the weekend.  So that might be happening.
Sometimes I wonder if I want to write more than I want to design furniture.  Then I flip out a little bit.  I'm worried, constantly, that I'm not doing the right thing, but then again, would studying English really help me?  Writers don't have to be English majors.  Furniture Designers don't have to be furniture majors either.  So really, college doesn't matter at all.  It's like expensive high school where everyone smokes.
If I don't do well here, I'll have to go back home and go to Schoolcraft or OCC, which are even more like high school where everyone smokes.  That's some motivation, I guess.
Did I tell all y'all how I talked to one of my roommates for four hours straight and totally revamped my novel in the process?  It was great.  YAY.  It feels much more solid now.
*NaNoWriMo has the side-effect of making you dramatic as fuck.
**I typed "ship" first, which reminds me that I am not the only person who has pondered the idea of writing slash fanfics about political figures.  Joey thinks about it too!  And Derek, obviously.  MWWHAHHAHAHAAH.  Mangoes.
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This is my face

Covered in freckles, with the occasional spot and some veins.
That's a Kate Nash song, right?  I'm too lazy to look it up.  But...you should find it on grooveshark or youtube! I think it was good!

And this is what I look like today.  The blood that I mixed up last night was all congealed this morning, so that was kind of a problem.  Also, I suck at doing makeup.  In general.

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What are you saying?

What are you saying?  I'm saying...


That was not relevant, but I like Tick Tick Boom, and I wanted you to know it.

I'm having this pervading feeling of worry right now.  I'm worried that I'm not making the right decisions, that I'm not doing the right thing with my life.  Then, I ask myself what else I would be doing, and I don't have a clue.  That's scary, that I might not be doing what I should be doing, but that there's nothing else.  I sometimes wonder if I like writing better than I like furniture.  And then I panic.  I panic because I'm not good enough at writing, and I'm not dedicated enough, and there's no clear path to a career.  Would I be better off quitting school and hitchhiking around the country to try and find myself, or at least find something to do?
No, I can't do that.  Girls can't go hitchhiking.  Nice girls from the suburbs go to college and get married and get a job they can quit it when they have kids.
I don't think I was ever cut out for that, but wouldn't it be so easy?  It would be so nice to do exactly what you're supposed to do and be happy with it, to feel whole without making anyone angry because you don't fit into their mold.

I don't want to deal with the future.

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Mood: Mildly productive

My car is mildly broken.  Have I mentioned that to the internet yet?  The power steering is not working, so, while drivable, it is really, really difficult to steer.  Not that steering is important or anything.  From what I understand, it's either some tube that's leaking or it's the pump that's broken.  Or...the entire steering thing is broken.  The tube would cost around $40, the pump would cost around $150 and the entire steering thing would cost around $holycrap.  So...I hope it's just the tube that's broken.
I've been feeling mildly productive today.  I woke up late, had breakfast (the macaroni and cheese on a bagel concept.  It was interesting and carb-a-licous) and then studied some for Art History.  I have a test on Monday.  It'll be alright, I think.  We had a quiz that the teacher said would be an indicator for the test, and I got a 94% on that.  I wrote a little bit (a very, very little bit) as well.  And then I got dressed and went on a bike ride and called my mom (Little broski is going to homecoming tonight.  How cute!) and then I got home.  And then I blogged.
Last night I did social things and redid an old Design Drawing assignment.  I have a B+ in that class, but if I redo a few assignments, I think I can have an A.  I really want an A.  I'm proud of myself for doing both of these things.  Tonight...I want to get all the pencil drawings done on my Intro to Furniture assignment and do the most recent Design Drawing assignment.  That way, I can go to school tomorrow to scan the furniture thing, practice some rendering, study more for art history, and maybe redo another Design Drawing assignment that I got like...a B- on.
I think I'm doing okay in school.  Written Rhetoric is super easy, Art History is getting better, Design Drawing is alright, and I've made a slight breakthrough in 2D.  The class that's causing the most worry is...Intro to Furniture.  We don't have that many assignments, and...I just want to know how I'm doing.  This is furniture.  This is my major.  I love it, right?
I sometimes wonder if I'm doing the right thing.
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There was much internal debate

About me posting this.  Well, here goes.
Food is odd.  As a concept.  I just wanted you to know that I felt that way.  And people have relationships with food, and that's also weird.  I think I have a weird relationship with food, in the same way that everyone else does.  I'm just not really sure what is the right amount of food to eat a lot of the time, or when I should eat.  There are days when it feels like all I do is eat, and there are days when I go over what I've eaten and realize that it isn't very much.  There are some days when I think about it a lot, Also, I don't eat things that go together.  Remember the mac and cheese taco?  Stuff like that.  Food culture?  I has none.  And I don't snack as much as I used to.  This summer, oh my gosh, there was so much snacking.  I gained weight, too.  I don't think it was really noticeable to other people, but I noticed, and it really bothered me.  I don't know how much I weigh now, because I don't have a scale.  I kind of really want to know though.
So yeah.  Food is weird, and it sort of freaks me out sometimes.  Like now.
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Quote of the Month

When we lose twenty pounds, we may be losing the twenty best pounds we have! We may be losing the pounds that contain our genius, our humanity, our love and honesty."
Woody Allen

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Go college, go college

I love having Fridays off of school.  Today...I didn't put pants on.  At all.  Woohoo!  Loving the lazy life.
I did, however, try to do some schoolwork.  Schoolwork for school.  So that I don't fail all my classes and drop out of college and work at McDonald's for the rest of my life.
If you work at McDonald's, I think you have to touch meat.
Eww.

 I'm trying to design lamps based on organic forms.  It's...there's something.  But mostly, I just want to invent my own organic forms to base lamps on.  Is that too much to do?  I have no idea what I'm doing here.  Design drawing got hard, all of a sudden.*  I still have an irrational love for it though.

This was what I did in class yesterday.  We were working on lighting and shadows, and this drawing sucks so much.  Gosh.  Can we just call it a bad drawing day and pretend that none of it ever happened?

On the writing front (For some reason, I'm thinking of All Quiet on the Western Front.  trollololol) things are not going so hot.  I'm worried that I won't get this thing finished in time for NaNoWriMo and then it will just fester on my computer for all of eternity.  I don't want this to happen.  I need to focus and make this work.  I want this.  I want this future, I want to be living the dream, and I know that I need to work for it.  I just...don't want to.

*AHAAHAHAH.

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I constantly ask myself

If what I'm doing is right.  If what I've done is right.  If I'm going to regret this all later.  If I'm going to ask myself what could have been, and why it wasn't.

I don't expect any answers, at least.

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I don't think

That we belong to us anymore.  I am not mine, and you are not you.  We are us.  The things I make are things that I couldn't have made on my own, and I've never made anything original.  That's fine.  That's good.  You're nothing new either.  We're made of remixed, broken parts that we recombine in any way that we can make work.  All we ever do is keep on pushing, keep on going, keep on making something, something so that we don't go insane.
All we are is the mix of things we've heard and seen and imagined.  That's all.  Not human in the least.
I am fine with that.  I'm fine with not being that way.  I'm done with pretending, done with acting like I'm something different.  Like we've changed.
There is no you and me, just us.

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I found this piece of paper.

In a bag.  My AP Lit teacher (who was pretty awesome) passed these out to all of us on the last day of my senior year of high school.  Now, I'm sharing it with you.

blessing the boats
by Lucille Clifton

(at St. Mary's)

may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

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Well...

#piecesthatwerefarbetterthantheonethatwonArtPrize

Thick-It, 2011 by Adam Fure

Just sayin'.

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It's a landscape.

Made of felt.  On a dress.

I thought it was pretty cool.

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What is this

I don't even...

ArtPrize is good because it brings a lot of art to the city.  A lot of that art is just...plain...bad.

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Gleecap. Season Three, Episode Three

I can hear you asking me right now "Why, Samantha, do you not have a Gleecap for episode two?" Well, I had notes for that episode, so that I could write a review.  I put them in my backpack.  They have not been seen since.  This is a source of great distress to me, and I'm working through the issues to the best of my abilities.  All I really remember is the giant huge crazy stressful Klaine cliffhanger.  Which, of course, was wrapped up in this episode.

Anywho, here goes.  I love the beginning bit.  Santana's back!  She's growing on me. Like a slutty fungus.  What is this focus on Mercedes all about?  I'm not used to her being treated like a real character, just like an extra who's there every single week.   I hate Mr.Schuster.  Still.  And I am shocked by the concept of Emma having parents.
Figgins:  You are brown*.  You should understand the Asian F.
I love Mercedes having a love interest.
Next, in rather large letters, I have written "Shake the foundation of Rachel!"  So...I think we know how I feel about that one.
Brittany...is that outfit empowering?  Really?  I think not.
Mercedes...Finger to the forehead.  Damn.
Bieste is awesome.
DO NOT MEET THE PARENTS.
Blaine...you are so BA.  Mwahahhaahahaha.
I love this song.  I guess that the whole "Mercedes having a plot" bit was just building up to this?
MIKE CHANG OH MY GOODNESS.  You're having the "Parents, I'm going to be an artsy person" conversation.  I had that conversation too, about two years ago.  I feel for you.  "We earned that part"  Um...okay Mom.
DIVA OFF DIVA OFF DIVA OFF DIVA OFF.
Kurt's comment was great, about how people will talk about this forever.   I love Kurt.
Have I mentioned that I greatly dislike Wemma?  Because I do.  Her parent's are horrible.  And they said something about redhead "heading" down the road they're on.   Lolololol.
Rachel Berry, rainbow flag in the locker.

And then, at the end of the episode, something random struck me as "OH SNAP" worthy.  I can't remember what it was.  It probably wasn't earth shattering.

So...Other than Glee.  Things have been happening in my life. Um....They're really cool.  Art History regularly causes explosions in my brain (the good kind) and makes me think about the universe in new and exciting ways andsometimesIconsiderswitchingmajorssothatIcanbeahomelessstarvingweirdowholikesfurnitureandhasaPhDinarthistory AHEM.  And Design Drawing is lovely.  2D is kinda dumb.  And I got my papers sorted out for my new job, so that should be starting soon.  I still don't know people who I can hang out with outside of school, and the fact that most of the people I've met don't have cars doesn't really help with that situation.  Still, I really like school.  Yay.  Derek is coming to visit this weekend, getting here tomorrow night, so that's awesome.
Other than that....Um...Apparently my blog has a lot of words.  For people who are used to tumblr, at least.  Sorry guys.  I like words.  A lot of them.  AND NANO IS COMING UP WOOOHOOO GUESS WHO HAS A PLOT.

I might have ADHD.

*Is it racist to say that?
Twee

At least you have ambition.

I want to be the sound your shoes make, hitting the pavement, day after day.
I want to be the ribbons wrapped around your bony wrist.
I want to be all of the things you think it better not to say.
I want to be the things you throw away.
I want to know the things you don't want to share.
I want you to know how much I care.

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Chapel.

Rock.

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I have a picture of the exact time and place.

Of where I belong.  I wanna go back there.  So freaking much.

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Fiction Friday!

It's a Fiction Friday if I want it to be Fiction Friday.  Don't mess with me.

It was late June when I drove with Rachel out of town, to a field somewhere. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, too long, but we had talked. We had talked a lot. We never talked about anything that really mattered.

I parked the car at the side of the road. We got out and laid down in the grass without saying a word. Side by side, we looked at the stars for a while, not needing words to muddle what was going on between us.

Finally, I spoke. “Rachel, you know that I like you.” I turned my head and saw her nod in the moonlight, “I really like you. And I care about you. I want to spend time with you.” Those were all things that she had heard me say before, more or less. They were things that I assumed were true for her too. I hoped they were true. I hoped that I wasn't inventing all of our relationship. Not that we had a relationship. Not that we had much of anything. “I just want you to know how I feel about you.” This was supposed to be freeing or something. It did not feel freeing. It just felt terrifying, this dead space there was, between us. Full of questions. Suddenly, it felt like this was not a good choice, it felt like I had done all the wrong things and said all the wrong things and I was scared. I wanted to go home and curl up in my bed and never leave again.

She reached toward my side and grabbed my hand. I was okay again, in seconds. I didn't say anything else. We just stared up at the stars, dreaming and wishing.

“Do you know what I think of when I look at the stars?” Rachel posed non-questions like that often.

“What do you think of?”

“I think of the future. I think of the past too. I think of myself, a lot. And I think of you. I think of everyone else. I think of interconnectedness and loneliness.”

She always said things like that, in that way that made everyone around her question if she was deep and thoughtful, or if she was just full of shit. No one was ever sure, but that night, I was erring on the side of depth. This wasn't the time when she would joke.

“I think about you a lot. I hope you,” She paused. Holding her breath for a moment. “I hope you realize that.”

“I had hoped that you did.” I replied too fast.

She chuckled, and I heard her moving, on the grass. She moved closer to me, her face above mine, blonde hair brushing my face. “I like you. I like you a lot. I like you as more than friends.”

“I feel the same way about you.”
“That makes me very, very happy.” She kissed me, and touched my hip, in that little strip of exposed skin between my pants and shirt. My heart, for lack of better term, fluttered. She rolled onto her back, closer to me this time. Our sides touching, two layers between our skin.
We were quiet again, staring at the stars and contemplating our interconnectedness and whatever else she had talked about. She was perfect. I loved her. I loved her. I loved her so freeking much. I loved her in the way that a person who had never been hurt can love. I had no idea how to say that. I had feelings, but I didn't know how to express that. I didn't want to express that. I didn't want to put myself out there.

“I”

She glanced at my face again before I spoke. “What?”

“Nothing.” When you put yourself out there, you get hurt. I didn't want any of that.

“No, what is it?”

“It's nothing. I just like this. Being here, being with you.”

“I like it too.” We were quiet again, giving me the space to imagine us. I wanted an us. I wanted to hold her hand and walk down the sidewalk together. I wanted more, more than talking to her late at night. I wanted more than on and off conversation. I wanted a relationship, and all the little couple benefits that it could come with. There was a reason why we were here. There was a reason. There was something I wanted to tell her.

“I'm really concerned about college.”

Rachel was not thinking about the same thing that I was thinking of. “Oh. Why are you so concerned?”
“Because I need to get in. I need to get into a college that's good.”
“I think you'll get in. You have everything going for you. You're going to do fine.”

“Maybe. I don't know. I'm just really worried about it.”

“You'll be okay.”

“I hope so.”
“I believe you'll be okay.” She was so insecure, sometimes. She would be fine, we both knew it deep down.

“We should probably go home.” She sat up, arms straight out behind her, hands on the grass. There was a slight arch to her back, not quite like anyone else. I liked the way my arm fit right there, we belonged like that. She stood up.

I was still lying on the ground. It was now or never. I stood up, brushing bits of grass and dirt off of my back. “Rachel.” I held both of her hands. “There's a reason why I brought you out here. I want us to be something more.” She opened her mouth and I kept talking. “I love you, Rachel. And I know that you might not love me back, and I know that there's a reason why we aren't in a relationship. You don't want to be seen with me, you don't want to be known as my girlfriend. You're ashamed, you want to be with someone who other people like more. I know there's a reason, there's something. I don't care about it. All I want is you. You're my eleven-eleven, you're who I wish for when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake. I love you.”

She stared at me. She stared at me for too long. I had said that too much, too crazy. I sounded like I was too into her. There was an imbalance. No one wants an imbalance. It's weird and it's awkward.
She pulled her hands away from mine. Tilting her head to the side, she asked “Is that really how you feel?” She said it so slowly, like she was talking to someone who didn't speak the same language as she did.

“Yes. That's how I feel.”
“Oh.”
“We should probably go now.”
“Yes.” We walked to the car. I drove home, not speaking, not looking at her, trying to avoid thinking. I would have turned the radio on, but I was positive that the first song we'd hear would be something horribly love-related.

I got to her house, after years of driving. “Bye, I guess.”
“Yeah. Bye. I'll um, see you around.” She got out of the car, walked to the side door, and let herself in, taking care to shut the door as quietly as possible.

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Gleecap! Season Three, Episode One

Alternately titled: I really, really like Chris Colfer.  A lot.

I'm super crazy pumped for a new wonderful episode of Glee tonight.  Just so you know.

Overall, this episode was good.  Not, say, Power of Madonna/ Cheesus/ Duets good, but it was pretty good.
Starting this episode, I had pretty high hopes.  I hoped that maybe, since it's season three, the writers would get their act together and it would feel like they actually discussed the show once in a while.  And that every episode written by Ryan Murphy wouldn't suck so much.  And I hoped for more character development on Quinn.  Remember that talk?  Remember the "You get everything you ever wanted, and I get the boy" with Rachel?  I wanted more of that.  I have big hopes and dreams for Glee.  Very few of them are met.

Onto this episode...
Wemma?  Really?  Why do we keep on putting ourselves through this trash?  I almost turned that shenanigans off, but then I remembered that there were good things coming later on.  The introduction of the piano concept came next.  It seemed dumb and very...Schusteresque.  At least they've got his stupid character down pat.
I love when Rachel and Kurt are friendly.  I love it so much.  I love that they have this little joint future going, I love that they're talking to Emma together.   Love love love.
Wasn't Blaine older than Kurt?  I thought he was supposed to be some kind of older gay role model.
Quinn, I liked you for five minutes of last season.  What are you doing?  What happened?
Sue...you are so evil, but no matter what you do, you'll always be better than Will.  You could be kicking puppies, and I would still like you better.
This whole "Santana switching teams" deal is a little bit of an obvious metaphor for her sexuality.   The next note that I've written down is "Santana on table - I see your stripper future."
Did Jacob Ben-Israel actually film Brit's crotch?
This season's "Yay back to glee" number isn't as good as "Empire State of Mind".  Just saying'.
The pepperoni in bra line...Classic, classic Brittany.
This new girl was from Stick It.  The more you know...
This whole song...I like that Kurt and Rachel both like Wicked...but I do not like this song. And the choreography is dreadful.  Take two excellent performers and have them do a number that just...sucks. Way to go.
Since when is Blaine's last name Anderson, except in the Dalton-verse? There is so much Klaine perfection.  So much Klaine perfection, and their BOWTIES.  Sigh.  I love them so much.  Best couple on this show, by a long shot.
A piano would never ever burn that fast.  And I don't like this Quinn in the least.
I am still love love loving Kurt and Rachel as friends.  So much love for that.  That one little clip of Kurt saying that he won't give up on Rachel?  That's going to be my inspiration for NaNoWriMo this year...and for the rest of my life.
Does anyone remember that part of the pilot where Team Sue was standing in the exact same spot as Quinn?  I want that to connect.  I want Quinn to have an identity again.  I want her to get her shit together.   And apparently Beth is coming back, which will further complicate the Glee-verse.  It's good to know that the writers think it's acceptable to drop a storyline for an entire season and bring it back like nothing has happened.  LEGIT.
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Back at home again.

This was my weekend.  It was great.  I went up to camp on Friday, right after I got out of "The Kendall Experience" and got there around 3:30.  No one else was there, which was a surprise.  I'd never been at camp alone before, so that was kind of strange.  It's very, very quiet.  I went to my car, got out my blanket, climbed up into my ceilingbed, and took a nap.  I woke up a while later by someone calling my name.  People!  At camp!  Still, there were only three of us there for dinner, and everyone else trickled in that evening.

 Saturday, we went on a hayride.  When I say "hayride", I mean "Ride on mattresses in the kubota trailer", which is like a hayride, except that it doesn't smell and is more comfortable.

We went to the pipeline, where I hadn't actually been yet this summer.  It was...the same as ever.
I really, really like camp.  Sigh.
Now I'm at home, where I've finally installed Adobe CS all the way (I had to prove my status as a student before I could get a serial number for my copy) and tried to install CAD.  And...I'm going to eat dinner, study for art history, try to work on my 2D project, and hope that everything goes well for my job interview tomorrow.  Not nessecarially in that order.
I'm hoping (fingers crossed) that I'll be able to get my act together and get a Fiction Friday up this week.  It's been a while since we've had one, and I...need to get my butt writing more.  Truefact.  How many days until NaNo?

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This isn't one of those.

This isn't one of those late night early morning posts where I'm fueled by coffee and diet pepsi and feeling sad and alone and worried.
This isn't one of those posts where I bemoan the fact that I don't blog enough, that I'm not good enough.
This isn't one of those posts where I contemplate the future.
This isn't one of those posts where I talk about writing.  About how all I want to do is write.  About how I wish I could write something perfect and publish it and have something to be proud of.
This isn't one of those posts where I mention that I need to take a shower.
This isn't one of those posts where I mention how interesting other people's lives are.
This isn't one of those posts where I come to the tragic realization that I can never be all that I aim for.

I'm not one of those people.

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My Friday.

I woke up at an ungodly hour to go to "The Kendall Experience" where I learned about budgeting.  And alcohol.
And then I went and talked to one of my professors about an assignment that I'm going to redo.
And then I redid the assignment.  Loitering in the furniture room.

It's a fun place to be.

And now I'm going to pack my stuff up, go to the post office, probably go to Bigby, and then either go home, or do the productive thing and work a little more on my dimensions assignment.  Last night, I thought that I should have my measuring tape with me so that I can measure furniture at stores.  I didn't remember to put it in my backpack, so I really should stop at home first.  And probably eat lunch.  And then go and work on this thing.  

And then tonight, Derek's visiting!  Yay!

And then tomorrow, Lauren's visiting!  Yay!

College is just a nonstop party.

While I was sitting in the furniture room, loitering, I was listening to a podcast.  I was alone, so I figured that I didn't need headphones.  Someone walked in to the room to use the microwave (we have a microwave and mini fridge.  Being a furniture person has its perks.) It was the Freakanomics podcast.  About suicide.  Awkward.

Minipost

Minipost: n. In between a tweet and a real blog post.

Today at Furniture Club, this couple* who were both designers came in to talk to us.  They were pretty cool.  Gayle, the chair of the department**, asked them to each say the three things that were the most important skills to have in the industry.  She said networking and drawing.  He said drawing.

Clearly, counting is not a necessary skill.

Btw, this is the collection that she designed.  I saw the renderings and sketches.  Pretty legit.

I finished reading A Study in Scarlet*** today.  And I got Sense and Sensibility from the library to read on the bus.  Someone on the bus thought it was funny that I was reading.  I'm not sure why this was amusing.  People read all the time, and I'm currently regarding my commute time as the time when I can read all of the things that I would have read if I was...deeper.  Like Austen.  And Doyle.

*Brangelina if Brad had a southern accent, basically.
**She's the chair of the furniture department.  This is hilarious.  Feel free to laugh.
***All because of Sherlock.  Sigh.

Quote of the Month

"The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. Stone crumbles. Wood rots. People, well, they die. But things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. If you can change the way people think. The way they see themselves. The way they see the world. You can change the way people live their lives. That’s the only lasting thing you can create."

Chuck Palahniuk

It's only Wednesday.

But at least it's hump day!
And I only have "The Kendall Experience" on Friday, so it's almost like it's Thursday!  Right?
Sure.
Last night I didn't do any homework.  That was probably a mistake.  And I went to bed too late, so I was feeling a little too tired during Intro to Furniture Design.
Judging by the number of misspellings in this blog post, I should have slept a lot more.
Tonight, I will be getting home, eating dinner (Do I need to go to Meijer?  I don't have any vegetables at home.  Do I need vegetables?  They could probably wait a couple days.) and doing homework.  My homework shouldn't take very long, so when I'm done, I will be sleeping.  It will be glorious.

I still haven't written what I said I would write.  I've drawn some stuff, at least.
I should write more.  But first, I should study for Art History.

Create.

You know, like, make stuff.  I need to do that.  I need to make something for myself, something not school related, something that is satisfying and makes me feel like I matter.  I should really work harder on this novel.  I like it, I like it a lot, but it's hard to motivate myself.
Okay.  Here's the deal(io).  My current wordcount is 3391.  By the time I go to sleep tonight, it will be 8,000 or higher.  And, as an added bonus for my lovely, lovely readers, there will be a drawing, created by me, of something in my bedroom.  Probably my chair.  Or desk.  Posted on the blog.
Making promises is probably a good way to force myself to do stuff.

Today during lunch, I made myself a new twitter profile image.  I like it quite a bit.  I used the tutorial made by the ever-inspiring Door Sixteen.

And here is a random picture that I took quite some time ago.  It's muffins.