Dievs Sveti Latviju

I'm not one for sports. Watching or playing. I once spent an entire football game counting my dad's fillings. Really. I made him open his mouth wide so I could see all the silver and gold in his teeth. I think he complied to keep me quiet and occupied. And golf. Seriously. Who watches that? And how is it possible to remember to keep your legs bent, eye on the ball, swing back straight then focus on where you want the ball to land? I run because that's all I have to do. Just run.
But oh em gee March Madness is rad. We went to the Syracuse v. Butler game and then the Kansas State v. Xavier. So many emotions. So much yelling. Double overtime. I think exhilarating might be the most appropriate adjective.

In other news, for some reason art history is always nap time. But even though I'm asleep, what the professor says still registers, and manifests itself in my dreams. This wasn't too bad in the Renaissance unit. But now we're in Dada and surrealism. Whacked. Today I dreamt of a little boy with measles making ice cream from an upside down bicycle. I use to do that. I've always been obsessed with food, and for some reason I thought that my upside down tricycle was just right for making the perfect pretend ice-cream blend. I later started Cafe Flambe out of Grandma Morley's backyard, serving sand out of the sand box to my relatives. Yeah.