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the colours in your head


Love poem

In a fit of procrastination while Jon snoozes, I used the Love Poem Generator that Naridu had linked to. I give you the end result:

My Love

Your skin glows like the banana, blossoms sweltering as the gardenia in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your zither voice and leaps like a llama at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great bald eagle wing.
I am comforted by your sock that I carry into the twilight of water bottlebeams and hold next to my elbow.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of syrup.
As my shin falls from my overcoat, it reminds me of your light switch.
In the quiet, I listen for the last thud of the day.
My heated chin leaps to my balaklava. I wait in the moonlight for your secret couch so that we may sit as one, chin to chin, in search of the magnificient purple and mystical poster of love.

In other news, I am having chocolate cravings of new and obscene proportions, my back hurts to the touch in three places, and instead of writing diligently through the night I took a break and watched two episodes of Ab Fab. Entertaining? Yes, but ultimately very sad, especially since Jon had decided to go to bed at 11 for some unknown reason.

Speaking of which, I now need to wake him up. He has, after all, been asleep for 12 hours. He popped awake at like 2 in the morning and proceeded to jabber at me as I attempted to control my homicidal urges. Grr.

Oscars tonight!



Writing a paper on a short story is NO FUN when very little has been written about the story itself.


A few thoughts

1. Why is the idea of putting vending machines in the library so complicated and impossible. Lamont is open 24 hours a day. This means that there are poor, nutrition-deprived students stuck in there round the clock. Were there, say, a Coke machine where one could obtain ready caffeine in a yummy format, then they would make a TON of money off of it. People bring beverages in there anyway. And if they had snacks, then I could have a Twix right now instead of craving one like mad.

2. Can the guy sitting to my diagonal left stop picking his nose?

3. This whole possibility of taking out laptops-- not helping my productivity. Not when there are meaningless websites like The Superficial and Cute Overload around. I was looking at Awful Plastic Surgery for a while, but then I realised that the people behind me might find it a tad strange that I'm examining Lindsay Lohan's breasts. Boob job? Natural? We'll never know*, but I should prolly stop examining this in public.

4. I just realised that Kittenwar makes me kind of sad, because what a tragedy must it be to be an unattractive kitten**? Or even--GASP-- one of the "Losingest Kittens"?

*I say they're fake.
**Not that any kitten truly CAN be unattractive. Except for Sphinx Cats. And some people love them.


... Mandroids?

My beloved roommate and I are currently pondering the vagaries of mankind, particularly the male portion. For evidence, I present you an email I sent to Inna this morning, because I'm too lazy to re-write this.

I think our boyfriends must be in sweetness collusion or something. I mentioned to Jon that Clay was coming for the weekend, and that I have a paper to write for Monday, along with the first 3-4 books of War and Peace to read and a Russian composition, and a midterm on Tuesday, so I was probably going to hibernate in Lamont, in reply to which he said, "No, no! You're moving here for the weekend. You can shower here if you want, too-- I got the super to clean our drains and everything, so the bathroom is no longer growing new and exciting forms of bacteria [Note: I may have added that part about the bacteria myself]. Here. You can have a drawer."

And I stare open-mouthed as he moves his precious Middle Shirts into new drawer so they are forced to rub shoulder yokes with his Lesser Shirts. And then he went on:

"Oh, you can do work here all weekend, and if I feel the need to run amok, I'll just go over to Pete's room or something. But I'll clean up, and then you can spread your papers around to your heart's content. Just consider the space your own."

Your own? YOUR OWN? This is a guy who is so territorial that it took me three months to get up the courage to leave a BOOK there! And I was almost surprised when he didn't pee on it to mark it as his own.

And then, this morning, as we're getting dressed, and I head out into the hall to get my gold shoes that I'd left there for a while, he says out of nowhere, "You know, I should just add another layer onto my shoe rack, so you can leave some more shoes here and stuff."



A. (and most probable) We have the same size feet.... so... he MUST be a secret cross-dresser who wants a chance to be alone with my shoes.
B. Again, a boyfriend android? Who... thinks of me? In ways that are romantic BEYOND the Hallmark gestures?
C. Head injury, causing him to lose his Selfishness Center?

I don't know. But I'm not complaining.

To explain the background-- Inna's boyfriend has also unexpectedly started doing sweet things (Yes, Clay, you were always sweet.) and now is Coming To Boston Unexpectedly. This lead to some speculation along the lines of moon phases... androids... head injuries... and JON has jumped on the bandwagon too! What is going on? A nefarious plot, perhaps? I love nefarious plots!

New England Skin

My face is chapped. Chapped chapped chapped. My right hand is chapped from smoking, though I moisturise frequently and have cut down massively on my smoking. I am sick and tired of flaking and peeling and feeling too tight in my own skin, and running to the bathroom to moisturise and exfoliating (and then having jon's stubble just make the process even more chappy and flaky and painful.) I asked my mother what to do, told her that I had been consuming a lot of olive oil, but there wasn't much to do about getting hold of fatty fish in this delightful dining hall of ours, and I got a lecture on eating almonds and fish oil capsules to replentish the varieties of fats that olive oil lacks. It'll apparently make my hair shinier and kick in in... oh, four weeks. I hold her the dry winter weather would ((hopefully) be over by then. She laughed mockingly and told me to buy some jojoba oil for my skin if conventional moisturisers aren't working.

Honestly, I hate New England weather. Bloody humidly unbearable in summer, then blisteringly cold in the wintertime. The wind rips through your clothing and takes any tiny inlet it can find to tunnel through your clothes and chill you to your bones. I'm loving what the lack of humidity is doing to my hair, but honestly? I'll just take the frizz. PUT SOME MOISTURE BACK IN THE AIR.

In Trinidad, my chapped cheeks went away in a day. ONE DAY. Why the hell would people settle in Boston?