So there was this one time that it was Wednesday and I was procrastinating writing a paper, finishing my French portfolio, and taking an online test.
Oh wait, that's today.
Yeah, I'm procrastinating yet again. I'm making lists of what I need to do without actually doing any of the items on my list. I've been sitting in my room for the past two hours, painting my nails and repainting them because I stink at painting my nails. I always get impatient and do something to mess them up when they're still drying. Ahhh my first world, middle class problems.
Today, I will eat some chocolate frosting, research T.S. Eliot and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (probably) in the library, go swing dancing or to the baseball game, and then get lots n' lots of sleep.
In the ten minutes since I wrote that last sentence—I'm really struggling today—I have eaten the rest of the chocolate frosting and glanced at my clock nine times. I have class in two hours. ...My body has convinced me that two hours isn't enough time to do research down at the library. Therefore, two hours will have to become my recreational time for today.
This summer I am going to buy a one-layer harmonica and learn how to play it. I want a portable instrument that I can awkwardly pull of my pocket when I'm hanging out with people and start jamming on it. Plus, the harmonica is super cool, cheap, and unique. Everyone here is getting ukuleles or guitars. Me? Charming the masses with my (c)harmonica.
Bob Dylan plays the charmonica.
This squirrel plays the charmonica.
Some day, I will play this charmonica.
As you can see, playing the charmonica is a charming talent reserved for adorable creatures and wildly successful musicians. Since I am already an adorable creature and will obviously be a wildly successful musician soon, I think that it is my right, nay my duty, to pick up the harmonica and charm everyone I see.
Look at this charmer!
This guy is just dripping with charm!
Charming young man. And extra attractive because he's playing the harmonica.
He could charm the panties off of Angelina Jolie.
And this guy, well...
Maybe not. Is that even a harmonica in his hands?
Seriously? She just looks like a fool.
That's more like it! Guitar and harmonica! And what a slick hairdo. (pun intended)
While I procrastinate cleaning off my bed, I might as well write a blog, eh?
First off, if you haven't noticed the little links above this post, you should check them out. Just a few new pages I added to spice up my blog a wee bit. I also added a new response system at the bottom.. I'd appreciate it if you just clicked one, so I can know when you creeping creepers that don't follow my blog have read a post. ;)
As I mentioned, I am currently procrastinating cleaning up the Christmas mess that I've been sleeping with for over a week, now, and by procrastinating that, I'm also procrastinating packing. Packing for what, you ask? To go back to school, of course. Any day now, I'll be zooming back to my dorm room, ready to start a new semester.
Am I scared? No, not really. 3 of my 5 classes next semester will be English classes, which, if you couldn't tell by now, is sort of my favourite. And the other two are history, which is my second favourite. I also have a few things to clear up, such as the French portfolio that I need to do for the last two credits of my foreign language requirement, and I want to try and focus on incorporating writing back into my life. It's intimidating when I look at it in a huge list like that, but I'm not worried.
I haven't much else to talk to you about, sadly. I'm just getting ready to spring into action, winding myself up with cleaning and laundry and the thought of saying goodbye.
I hate that part. The goodbyes. I'm the worst at them. I would rather walk away and hide than say it. In fact, I've done that before. I do anything I can to avoid them, because when I don't want to let people go, there are never words enough to make the parting any easier. And then I'm just left standing awkwardly, completely unfulfilled, watching them walk away. It's a complete loss of control, and I can't deal with that.
There's no point in thinking about them, now. I'll just clean off my bed (finally), get organized, maybe write or read, and listen to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley as my lullaby.
