I do adore Sting. My dad would always play a few CDs at home when I was very, very small, whenever he was in a good mood or... something. The Beatles #1 hits, a Nanci Griffith album, some Simon and Garfunkel, and Sting.
So she took her love for to gaze a while, upon the fields of barley/ in his arms she fell as her hair came down, among the fields of gold.
There are just a few things I don't think I will ever, ever get tired of. That album, Fields of Gold. The Lion King. Salmon roe. Russian dolls, Andy Warhol, marble notebooks, the mechanical pencils with the thick, thick leads that always lived on my daddy's drafting table (I'm fairly certain he's the only architect left in the world who has never heard of Google Sketchup), waffle weave shirts. A couple people (you should know who you are).
He who hesitates is last.
No shit, darling. I adore Mae West. So sexy, so clever, so unashamed of her body and unafraid to shock people. I want to be Mae West when I grow up. If I have to grow up. Though sometimes that sounds pretty attractive, because surely grownups don't deal with the shit I deal with in high school? Surely. Okay, I'm done being silly now.
Oh, hello, again, darlings. I'm so glad to know you're here. And proving it, too! You can tell I'm three years old and just met the internet, because I get really, really excited every time a single comment shows up on here. So, thank you for making a sixteen-year-old geek who was born in the wrong decade (am I too young to say "at least the 90s are over"?) so very, very happy. I don't mind being a bit of a cliché.
In other news: Ugh, Monday. I have actually been quite productive this structured study period, so I'm taking the last half hour to write to you. I begged off of swim team today, feeling quite genuinely sick. We all are. My hands and lips are cracked and bleeding, all I want to do is snuggle into my blankets, but my room is freezing and too full of foods I don't really have an appetite for but will eat anyway and then feel sick because of. I want to bathe in warm olive oil. I want to see the sun. I want to eat fresh fish and ripe fruit and cake baked by someone other than me... I guess I want it to be summer, and I want this place not to be Aroostook County. Because the combination of winter and snow and wind and a tiny dorm full of a hundred-odd teenagers, many of whom kiss at least one other person rather a lot, and a crazy stressful school schedule turns out to be quite conducive to illness. Who knew? I want to lock myself in my room, but I'm too social and can't afford to miss maths. I'm going to be all right (You hear that, you bloody bastard?! I AM going to be all right! I am!). I have to be. Because there's a swim meet on Wednesday.
The meet on Saturday went quite well, considering that I hadn't been to one since seventh grade. I made a 33-second 50 yard freestyle, and we did all right in the relays as well. But it was such a long way. Longer than it takes me to get home, and that's a couple hundred miles. So, we left at about 9 am and got back well after midnight. I kicked my shoes off, took out my contacts and fell into bed without even brushing out my oh-so-chlorinated hair.
Woke up nice and late yesterday, had breakfast and proceeded to Do Nothing the rest of the day. I really kind of hate Sundays here, because everybody else is working and I don't have the ethic, and it was too cold to go down to the shop and I couldn't have used the kitchen anyway, because there were people in it - in MY kitchen! What the hell? Anyway, I just sort of felt sorry for my lonely little self like a lonely little loser yesterday, and then wasted structured talking with friends. Which is SO much more worth my time than stupid maths homework. Honestly.
Oh, but one fabulously hilarious thing did happen. I don't know if you'll appreciate it, not knowing the girl who said this, but anyway... the instrumental ensemble class met for a few minutes on Sunday afternoon to distribute music, etc, and as we were all coming out of the school, I, in my grip-less flats, slipped on the compacted snow and fell flat on my face. I've got this big bruise on my hip now. But I must have been swearing a bit as I got up - my usual routine is something like "Oh, shit, fuck, what the fucking hell, JESUS!" - and after I'd brushed myself off, this girl said to me "I thought Jewish people swore to Moses." I felt so much better after that. Falling on your ass, then laughing it off, is wonderful.
And God I love food studies. We sit. In a room. And talk about food. And food in modern culture. And food in history. And non-food... read this article and be outraged, okay? It is, as my teacher put it, a food hookah (makes me miss Turkey, actually) and the most completely stupid idea ever. People don't just crave flavours. If you're not full, you're still hungry, fool. And you will eat.
Oh, but speaking of Turkey-ish things! Interview tomorrow. Wish me luck, my dears. Send some good vibes north at about 6:30 Eastern time, would you? Tajikistan/ Egypt/ India, here I might come!
Okay, this is a stupid post, because I have nothing very exciting to tell you about that I can tell you about - yeah, you thought you knew everything. SORRY, babes. Anyway, I'm nearly done with my DC video and have a ukulele one in the making, too.