a metric non-grove

It was ridiculous that I stood in front of the mirror for an hour, just holding my cup of Nyquil, indecisive as to whether or not I wanted to take it, whether it was too late to take it, and whether it would hurt me more than it would help me. My aversion to medicine is ridiculous. As I stood in front of that mirror, examining it far to well for my liking, well enough to realize that the little dots in the corner are popped zits, I tried to rationalize taking the medicine. "It's just like taking two acetaminophens, only with stuff to knock me out. It smells like it might taste okay. " And then I'd swirl the bottle with its warning labels like wallpaper and watch the shiny liquid, the unwholesome blood of groggy, cherry-flavored entities, and the debate would start all over again. Indecision brought me to the couch to mull over the dilemma, and play a bit of Mario.

That brought me to two am, when I decided it would be better to stay awake all night and get to class than be well-rested the next day and have missed two classes (again). As usual, I failed at this, slept through philosophy and bio, and woke up at 12:00 when Dan came to bother me and bring me to the pagan group meeting. "The new guy," Nick, came and we all introduced ourselves. A decent meeting.

Everyone around me uses the word "grove" incorrectly. As an English major, that pisses me off. Next time someone does it, I'm going to make them look stupid, no matter who it is. Then again, they'll probably just get into some imbecilic argument and protest that "this is how we use the word." A grove is a group of trees or druids; a grove is not a clearing.

I did some good research for my anti-metric article. As I already knew, a meter is one 10 millionth of a certain meridian which goes through Paris. What I didn't know was that all metric weights come from the very first measurement of the gram: one cubic centimeter of water, as the US government publication so nicely put it, at maximum density. In other words, the French made themselves an ice cube which would become the basis of all metric weights. As for measurements of volume? I just can imagine some French guy exclaim, "Let's make another ice cube! A really big ice cube!" Thus, a one cubic decimeter ice cube was made, melted, maybe spilled on the floor, and proclaimed a "liter." Someday, someone should patent the liter ice cube and sell it to fast food and coffee chains, so they have a conventient way of filling your cup 90% full of ice and saving money on ice crushing. Not that King Henry I's idea for the standard yard was the most scientific thing... but ice cubes?

this entry is written pansy-style

As in non-html. As in I click, and thus make text smaller, more colorful, differently aligned, etc...

I hate it when Dan refers to me as his "wench" in conversation. It's not as if I think it's degrading or anything, since we do it to each other as a joke, but I just wish he wouldn't do it around people who already know me as nothing more than "Dan's girlfriend." I have an identity of my own. Last night, we met MacKayla (sp?) in line at the cafe. She's some girl who's come to pagan group a few times, and sadly has only heard the Beatle's version of "Dear Prudence," and not the ultra awesome-er cover by Siouxsie and the Banshees. If I remember correctly, Bonnie wanted to beat her up recently... anyways I remembered her name, she did not remember mine, and I think we've met enough times that name-remembering would be expected. I blame Dan.

He was sad today, Dan was, but I forced him to go on a walk with me, knowing he'd feel better after. We both felt like shit earlier for missing bio lab AGAIN, and we had a depressing meal at Donovan in which we soaked napkins with tea and discussed the mindlessly liberal population of THAT table.

I just found out that I can get a public link to my stats on FitDay. So, here's the link. I'll put it on my link list later, so my non-readership can look at it and bug me about not exercising enough and whatnot. Speaking of link list, that marquee is too fast.

Pb & J is ultra fun.

fill-oot!

A - age you got your first kiss: age 5, from Ryan Fleming, the mischievous neighbor-boy.
B - band listening to right now: the pogues. hurrah for ireland!
C - crush: current crush? the obvious answer is danny, but he's not really a crush. let's say it's tony danza. :-p
D - dad's name: Bill
E - easiest persons to talk to: Dan, Sara
F - favorite bands at the moment: clan of xymox, siouxsie and the banshees, depeche mode
G - Gummi bears or gummi worms: gummi bears, bouncin' here and there and everywhere
H - hometown: Burrillville
I - instruments: mallet percussion, keyboard
K - kids: well, there's sara... and ian the gnome... and as of a few weeks ago, becky.
L - longest car ride: P.E.I. -- we had to stay the night in New Brunswick on the way.
M - Mom's name: Melodee
N - nicknames: Kris, Thing, Kay Bee, and assorted screen names
P - phobia[s]: identical twins (although my psych major lover would say that it's technically not a phobia), heights
Q- favorite quotes: "If you don't know what hemisphere you live in, it's probably the Northern Hemisphere, between Canada and Mexico"
R - reason to smile: getting new stuff, reading a good book, doing a challenging logic puzzle, finding things "of" 1999
S - song you sang last: "Twisted Tenderness" by Electronic
T - time you woke up [today]: noon. i slept through three classes. :(
U - unknown fact about me: i am a very angry person. even dan probably doesn't realize this fully.
V - vegetable you hate: most vegetables are tasteless the way most people cook them... for cat's sake, learn to use a bit of cayenne, or soy sauce, or some other delicious substance which covers the flavour of vegetables.
W - worst habit(s): nail biting, my bad sleep schedule
X - x-rays you've had: teeth, and think i had a chest x-ray at one point, although i can't remember why
Y - yummy food: i'm a hobbit... many, many foods are yummy to me. chocolate donuts (doughnuts), however, are my weakness
Z - zodiac sign: taurus, and oh so stubborn

oh my...

here's a junk mail that rates up there with the spam from bungay griffon and florine slaughter:

i'm subscribed to a yahoo my little pony group, and lately there have been a lot of people posting spam and porn ads. so, this one, probably some bot, posted with this subject line:

[OnePonyWorld] Meet Sexy Equestrian Singles, Equestrianfriends Is Where horse Singles Click!

:-P

the morning

After yesterday's "going to bed at five am and sleeping til three" fiasco, the logical thing to do was stay up all night and all day today to even things out. So, here I am, awake at eight am.

The technical start of my morning, at midnight, was kicked off by two straight episodes of "Cheers," which was followed by Little Nicky on TBS. Later on there was more "Cheers" and some "Full House," which made me really happy, even though it's a terrible show. I can watch "Full House," point out everything wrong with every episode, and yet I still enjoy it. Nostalgia will do that, I suppose. From here on, I shall not use the shift key, since i'm on dan's comp and the left shift sticks. i hope my typing isn't disturbing him; he's trying to sleep.

anyway, after watching too much tv while doing too little room-cleaning, i found that www.sunrisesunset.com has an awesome printable calendar with the sun's rising and setting times, along with optional civil, nautical, or astronomical twilight. from this, i knew to be outdoors before six thirty seven am to watch the sunrise. i wrote a message outside thorp with my anti-dust chalk. we'll see if anyone notices it. "these pretzels are making me thirsty."

i walked to the edge of campus, and then found a wonderful spot in the "woods," near tree one, the spot of my valentine's day ritual, and the Path Beyond the Border. interesting observances were made.

nantucket nectars cranberry juice is a gateway juice; once one starts drinking that, one goes on to the hard cranberry juices.

i love dan. i wonder if he will read this. i wonder if he will read that. this is separate from that.

as ever, though in a somewhat better mood,
fuck this, i hate journal entries that end in a signature.

the printer tray... of LIFE... ple ble ple

The contents of my printer tray describe the state I've been in for the past few days. It's sad. I started writing a happy list for sometime in the future, probably when I have money.

~the picking out of a new haircut
~the missing all but two classes
~the reverting to old ways
~the wishing to read something fun
~the continued listening to "Twisted Tenderness"
~the writing of a happy list
~the writing of ideas for a new website
~the being hungry because I JUST woke up
~the resolution that I will stay up all night tonight, and all day tomorrow, and go to bed early tomorrow night.

Sure, that'll happen. Maybe I'll delude myself a little more and pretend I'll actually get something productive done. I don't have anything more to type about, but I really wish I did because I'm typing really well today and it's kinda cool.

I stayed up hours last night reading old deadjournal entries. I miss the deadjournal days, but they gave me fun ideas for the happy list and my new site. Perhaps I can transfer the old entries to blogger? Hmmm. Well, no more pointless stuff to type.

Wilson's Blogmanac

So, I just discovered that I can post about other blogs I find with a nifty link at the top of the mandatory BAR. Wilson's Blogmanac looks fun. Almanacs are always fun.

Kristin + Horoscope + Amory = Essential Kristin?

To start off this entry, I shall begrudgingly go through all the crap I write at the beginning of an entry: I need to update more, updates are better when they are more frequent, my true voice doesn't shine through when I don't do this enough, it's cathartic, ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra. For next time, I shall just use this handy, horrible acronym: ATCIWATBOAE. "All the crap I write at the beginning of an entry."

Yesterday's whiny, self-centered entry was deleted by a virus which did nothing but close Firefox and change my homepage. I'm actually glad I didn't save the thing, because it was a whiny piece of crap and it made me cry, the bastard!

Bleh, I just had to dislodge Goldfish cracker sludge from the back of my mouth. Hooray for the lack of readership which allows me to write such things.

Dan has just entered the room and started to kill thought processes. I think I need a defibrillator (sp?) for moments such as this. Music... music helps.

"... But not in.... Love my way... it's a new rule... I follow... where my mind goes..." Furs!

Freaking fragmenty entry. Music HAS been helping. School with its stressfulness has kept me away from my music, but yesterday I listened to most of my 290 item playlist and went into mix cd making mode, which made Dan, Bonnie, and myself late for coffee at Brewed Awakenings with Anthony of Druidness. I listened to "Strange Love" by Depeche Mode for the first time in a few years, and it sounded a lot different than I remembered it. "Strange Love" is one of those songs that I have put on endless repeat and listened to for hours on end, even thought it's not even one of my favorite songs. So, it was odd that I didn't remember it better.

Bonnie and Dan were both made awesome mix cd's (look at me use the passive voice when I shouldn't. Say, I seem to remember declaring once that I would sometime write an entire paper in the passive voice and piss off some unlucky professor. BIO 109 is perfect for such a thing.) which I probably appreciate more than either of them will. And... right now Dan and I are listening to the one I made him and he's smiling because I turned up the volume. "Run Wild" just came on, you see. You see, don't you, my non-readership?

Chaucer excites me. And here's THAT song. That song excites me. Everything is exciting when you've had enough coffee. Socks! Excitement! Belly button! Whooo! The realization that the goldfish on the front of the bag has a cow print on his sun glass lenses! Excitement!

What did I actually intend to write now? Stupid, sneaky thoughts, flying out everywhere. Blame the goldfish. I'm sure there's a smug look beneath those bovine lenses of his. I think yesterday I meant to write that I saw the White Rabbit, but I didn't mean to give any explanation of this statement. Since my readership is non-existent, they know what I'm talking about. Anyways, the White Rabbit frightened me, because he was in the scene, the deja vu. I've been freaked out about that lately. There are two ways that I look at the deja vu. One is that my life is on the right track when it happens, the other is that I'm moving closer to death. The latter explanation is what I tend to think when I get deja vu more often than I would like.

Aha! That's what I was going to write about. Thanks a lot for your distractions, you smiley, bovinated bastard. If you were real, Feanor could kick your ass... tail. Yes, the other deja vu. It wasn't long like the one yesterday, just a flash of the table where we sat at Brewed Awakenings, Dan on my left and Anthony's hand moving across his PDA, which he showed me my horoscope on. Most of what he said about my personality was already known to me (passive voice again!), but hearing it said by someone else, and at that someone whom I've only met twice, put it into perspective. Fascinating, that he could tell from that chart how I can be unaccepting at times, when I only figured it out yesterday. It seems that I am the Super Earth sign since, if I'm getting the jargon right, my sun sign is Taurus, my moon sign is Capricorn, and my ascending sign is Virgo. There was an attempt to "wow" me with amazing predictions, but I think it ended up scaring me more than anything. Let's see "the sun in Neptune," I think it was, will cause me to be lost and confused for about two years. During this time, I should avoid addictive substances, both literal and figurative, and try meditating. This product is not meant to be consumed. Do not use on broken skin or lacerations. Shite, that one time I tried meditating, I heard voices and saw colors. It freaked me out, but apparently people spend their whole lives trying to see colors and hear voices when they meditate. Now, if that was in a dorm room with the filtered sounds of orcs laughing hurting my concentration, what sort of weirdness while occur during a two year period when I should really try to meditate? And, this Period of Great Confusion apparently started a few weeks ago. Before I forget, I should type that Anthony told me, crap I'm already forgetting, that the 15th and 18th of this month will be important, and I will know more about The Situation by April or May. The Situation, I think must always be referred to by a capitalized term.

Time to stop ignoring Dan. Sorry, non-readership, for the length of this bastard.

As Ever,
K. Morgan Jucius

*wink*

awakening Aria Vates

New semester, hard semester. As ever, earlier I had plenty of excellent, journal-worthy thoughts which conveniently spent the day evacuating my brain. Something about The Pit of Craig Lee and the inordinate number of Criminal-looking White Vans to be seen there.

Philosophy is fun and full of Olmsted stories, Literary Theory has shite for reading material, Biology saps my spirit, and British Lit is awesome in every way except for the dumb people (also seen in theory) who complain about the course despite the fact that it's a non-required course and they had to have known going in what we'd be studying. Me, I'm excited that we get to read Chaucer in Middle English. For want of a phrase more interesting than "Chaucer-haters can go to hell," I shall say that Chaucer haters can go to a marshmallow Fluff factory, where they will be in an unfortunate accident involving sugar ooze erupting on everything within a 2 mile radius and then be blown into the air, landing in a spot where it is all to easy for them to stumble away for help and inadvertently wander into CL 206 where they shall become stuck to the wall and be forced to listen to weeks of English classes, including Chaucer, and only be freed when one of RIC's many stray black dogs wanders in and licks them free, unfortunately killing itself by consuming too much hardened, sugary Fluff but luckily being reincarnated as something nice, such as a pink doily.

That, by the way, was a 135 word sentence. Hooray for tape-worm long sentences.

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