Doctor Who

I am incapable of forming coherent thoughts. Or making coherent noises come out of my mouth. All I can say, is wow. That was emotional. My mind is blown.

On a different note, I'm all alone now. My roommate has gone home. And the room looks so different now. So bare. So very, very different.

And with all of this, all I can think, is how peculiar a set of circumstances have occurred and made me quickly forget that the end of the year is here. But now that Maggie is gone, I have to face the fact that I have a day to pack up my things to return home. And part of me is wildly happy about that. Part of me is already missing my current roommate, and my future roommate, who also left today. Part of me is freaking out about Doctor Who, and part of me is thinking about some of my friends who are having a rough time right now. Basically, I'm a giant whirl of emotions currently, and I never know which is going to surface at any moment. And it changes so fast. Sad, then happy, then pensive, then confused, then back to sad. Yeah. I'm going to leave it at that, and maybe eat something, and probably watch more Doctor Who. I'm done with Season One. Only took me 24 hours.

Why are the people in my hall so freaking loud?!

So apparently my sleep was a nap for the past three hours. In unrelated news, the boys in my hall are so EFFING LOUD SHOUTING ABOUT GETTING IN THE ****ING ELAVATOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sometimes, I hate them. Like now. When I'm still rather tired, but can't go back to sleep because they woke me up. And the funny part was, in my half doze before they finally woke me up all the way, I was actually feeling charitable towards them. Like I was thinking "oh, they're not so bad, it's just who they are. They're playing video games" (portal, I believe). But then they started shouting about the FREAKING ELEVATOR AND WOULDN'T SHUT UP ABOUT IT. And I woke up. And the thing is, WE ARE CURRENTLY UNDER TWENTY-FOUR. HOUR. QUIET. HOURS. THAT MEANS BE FREAKING QUIET FOR A WEEK, LIKE EVERYONE IS SLEEPING OR STUDYING ALL THE TIME. BUT NO, LET'S SHOUT OVER AND OVER AGAIN. And I don't want to be that girl who goes over and asks them to be quiet. I suppose I should tell my RA that the noise is bothering me. Yeah, I can't wait till I'm out of this floor and away from these people.

I didn't make it to eight

I'm exhausted and going to sleep. I don't know if this is a nap, or going to bed, but my alarm is set for seven o'clock tomorrow morning. So maybe sleeping for eleven and a half hours?

Four more days

Aren't weekends home supposed to be relaxing? 'Cause I just back to school and I'm mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. Going to sleep at eight o'clock? Yeah, it's happening.

The Invisible Man by Pablo Neruda translated by ZJC

I laugh,
I smile
at the old poets,
I cherish all
their poetry,
all their dew,
moon, diamond, droplets
from submerged silver
that my graybeard brothers
festoon onto roses,
but
I smile;
for they always say “I,”
every where they go
something occurs
and it is always “I,”
down these streets,
only they
or their beloved,
walk down these streets,
no one else,
there are no fishermen about,
no bookstore merchants,
no bricklayers walking about,
no one stumbles and falls
from their scaffolding,
not one person suffers,
not one person loves,
only my poor brother,
the poet,
everything is happen
to him
and to his beloved,
no one lives
but him, the solitary poet,
no one weeps from hunger
or anger,
not one person suffers
in all his poetry
because he was unable
to pay the rent,
not one person
in all his poetry
is evicted from his house
with everything he owns,
and in factories,
nothing happens, no,
all our umbrellas, cups and bowls, are forged
bombs, guns and trains are built,
the elements are mined
by scraping up hell,
there is a worker’s strike,
military police arrive
and open fire,
they fire upon the people,
which is also to say,
against poetry,
ai, but my brother,
the poet,
was in love,
or he was agonizing
for in his throbbing heart
is only the sea,
and distant ports of call
yes, he loves their names,
and he writes about the ocean
the one he has never seen,
when life is as full
as the grain from an ear of corn
he walks by, never wondering
once how to harvest corn,
and he rides upon waves
without ever touching the shore,
and, now and then,
he is moved, perhaps profoundly
and deeply, but with despair,
you see, he is too sublime
to fit inside his own skin,
he gets himself ensnared, unscrambled,
he declares that he must be accursed,
with great sighs he drags about the cross
of darkness,
he knows that he is at odds with
everyone else in the world,
still, he eats bread every
morning but he has never
seen a baker
never attended union
meeting of bakers,
and so, my poor brother,
he becomes intentionally tricky,
he twists his words and writhes
and finds himself
and his words
complex,
complex,
ai, that’s the word,
I am no better
than my brother,
but I smile,
because when I walk down the street
I am the only one who does not exist,
all of life floods about me
like tidal rivers,
but I am the only
one who is now invisible,
I have no cryptic shadows,
no melancholia, nothing is dark,
you see, people speak to me,
people want to tell me things,
to talk about their families,
all their grief, all their gaiety,
people pass by, and people
talk to me about things,
look at all the things they do!
They chop wood,
string up electrical lights,
they bake bread late into the night,
our morning bread,
with pick ax and irons
they pierce the entrails
of the earth
and convert the minerals
into locks,
they rise into the sky and
carry airmail and sobs and kisses,
someone is standing
in every single doorway,
someone is being born,
my beloved is waiting for me,
and, as I walk along, these things
call out for me to sing them,
but how can I? I haven’t time,
I must examine everything
I hurry home now,
hurry off to the Party office;
what else can I do?
People everywhere ask me
to sing for them, yes, sing forever,
until everyone is drowned
in dreams and in colors,
ai, life is a gift
flooded with songs, the gift flies
open and a flock
of wild birds fly out
and they all want to tell me things,
they perch on my shoulders,
life is a struggle,
just like a rolling river and
all of humanity
wants to tell me,
to tell you,
why they are struggling,
and, if they are to be executed,
why they will die,
and I pass them all and haven’t
time enough for so many lives,
I want
them all to live
inside my soul,
to sing out my song,
I am not important,
I have no free time
for my own passions,
all night and all day
I must write this down
what is occurring, please
let me try not to miss anything.
It is true that, extraordinarily,
at times I do get tired,
I look up at the cosmos,
I lie down in the grass, a bug
the same color as a violin
marches by,
I place my palm across
a sapling breast
or between the hips
of the woman I love,
I try to study the silk
of the trembling night,
all frozen with destiny,
then
I feel waves of mystery
pouring out from my soul,
ai, childhood, my little self
weeping in a corner,
my heartbreaking youth,
I feel so sleepy
so I sleep
just like a log,
in no time I am
unconscious,
with or without destiny,
with or without my lover,
and when I wake up
all the night is long gone,
all the streets have come alive without me,
the poor barrio girls
are off on their way to work,
fishermen return
from the sea,
the miners
in brand new boots
are going down into the mines,
yes, everything is alive, awake,
yes, everyone is
hurrying back and forth,
and I have scarcely enough time
to struggle into my clothing,
I must fly:
no on must
pass by without my seeing
where he is going,
what she is doing.
I cannot live without
life,
without people being people,
I must run and look and listen
and sing,
stars have nothing
for me, solitude
bears not a single flower,
not a single fruit.
For my life, give me
every life,
give me every agony
the world has ever had
and I will transform them all
into desire.
Give me
every rapture,
even the most secret,
because if not,
how will they ever be known?
I must tell them,
please, give me your
daily struggles
so I can make up my song,
that way we will be together,
shoulder to shoulder,
everyone single one,
let my song unite us:
this song of the invisible man
singing along with everyone.

It's a Comic about one of my favorite things!

Turtles!

There's no place like home, there's no place like home

I just want to be at home watching Dr. Who right now... I hate exams. Also, I desperately need sleep. And I need to study.

Dantean Punishment

So I was thinking that there needed to be an eternal punishment for the South Quad faux-arsonist. I was thinking a new level of hell, in which there is the biggest, fluffiest, most comfortable bed ever. And the faux-arsonist, who would always be exhausted, would lie on the bed, and as soon as he (or she) would fall asleep, the loudest, most annoying noise ever would sound, and wake them up. And this would happen for eternity. I feel like this would be a fair, Dantean punishment.

Emotional state right now: prone to sudden urges to cry

Tired... and emotionally exhausted... and mentally exhausted... I just want my own bed in my own house. I just want to be home.

My evening: "games are always played in proximity to tragedy." ~John Green

And with that mysterious statement, I'll leave you to your Sunday night. No scratch that. Monday morning.

Leave you Wondering

I don't say anything sometimes

Not because I have nothing to say

but because if I say anything

you'd know how much I care

because if i said anything,

my heart would hurt from so much emotion

so I stay silent

and leave you wondering

I found this on my computer while searching for a different poem (which I apparently didn't write down, just composed in my head). I wrote it only a little while ago, but I don't remember who it's directed to. Oops! Anyway, I like it, so I thought I'd share it with you.

Papers!!!!!!!!!!!!

AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't want to think about the Nazi ideal of womanhood anymore, but I only have half a page to go till I'm done. I don't know if I'm going to make it... Maybe I'll finish Emma as a break time activity. That way, I'll be taking a break from one type of homework by doing another. I'll have this paper done in the next hour hour or so. But then I feel like I should start work on my other paper. Or maybe I'll do my take home quiz. So much work to do before tomorrow and Tuesday! AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

And then after Tuesday, I need to read Persuasion, and start studying for my exam that's a week from Wednesday. So much to do!

On another note, I'm thinking its going to be a no-pants sort of week. Hello skirts and dresses and shorts!

Mail!

My mail today included one letter thanking me for my participation in a survey and including a genuine two-dollar bill (which are apparently still printed) in thanks for my help, and a letter from my mother. The letter from Home included a newspaper story about baby turtles because my dad had said that "we should send that turtle picture to Hannah". It made me smile

P.S. I have a letter that I need to put in the mail, and I apologize that it's taken me a week and a half to send it, when I finished it last week. Sorry Aaron.

Also, I believe this is my one hundredth post. I think it's fitting in an odd way that this post is about letters and turtles, two important parts of my life...

:)

I found a little doggy on the windowsill in one of my classrooms. It's pretty cute.

I have a feeling Youtube doesn't know the definition of Venerable...

Everything makes so much more sense

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

My mind was just blown!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

"To get to the other side"

They don't mean the other side of the road. They mean the other side, death. WTF?!

How did I hear this joke for so many years and never get that?