And every breath we drew was hallelujah

While peeling and slicing apples in the basement of her grandmother's home, Allie told me the entire storyline of the latest and the hottest young adult book series.




REDIKILUS. But, as most seemingly insignificant things do, it led me to think. Why is our outlook on the future so despairing? It seems that in the mind of every Science Fiction writer, the next century or two will bring events so catastrophic that we will be reduced to the state of the early Egyptian slaves, but instead of pharaohs cracking whips will be robots with laser beams. Or monkeys in snazzy jumpsuits. When's the last time you read a futuristic piece portraying the next stages of our world as a bright and happy place? There are no unicorns in the future. There are no rainbows in the future. Only human sacrifices and Spaceship warfare. It's a good message to send to the growing generation: your brain will inevitably be harvested and fed to the inhabitants of Jupiter, so don't bother with your algebra assignment.

Also, my professor is distractingly attractive. Yesterday I asked a question (one I spent all of class formulating). I have no idea what his answer was. All I know is that he smiled and tossed his hair.

Today i wrote a small segment excluding the letter e. What was that? You'd like to read it? No. No I can't. No really, you don't want to read it. Oh stop it you. It's silly. Ok fine.

Looking out on our land from high, all is lit with a rising sun,
casting a warm glow on roads and hills far down. Our group walks away,
trailing up toward Timp’s summit, and I cast a final longing look at
Provo, counting hours until food and hydration. Following a strong
boy, I fail to match his rapidity and fall into isolation. Though I
don’t mind, as all within sight brings abundant occupation of mind. A
small flood springing from nothing runs along my rocky path, making
hiking hazardous, and I think what might go wrong without company.
Slipping, lying, dying .

Sure it doesn't make a ton of sense, but fetch! No e's!

fated to pretend

Brenda has a bowl. It sits on her desk. In the bowl is an assortment of chocolate. Cheap chocolate. Chocolate that comes in an assortment bag from Costco. Hershey's minis, kit-kats, mini-Reeses cups, and bite size twix.
This morning I woke up happy, because it's Thursday. On Thursday I see Brenda and the bowl on her desk.
I'm at Smith's, buying one thing or another at least 13 times a week. I could easily pick up an assortment of cheap chocolate. I could even opt for a truly delicious treat, as I walk by the Provo bakery on the way to Brenda's desk.
But I think that would ruin Thursdays.

whatever you like

You know it's a weird day when a leaf falls on your head and you interpret it as a personal attack and start to cry.

Grab hold of your bootstraps

My scarf smells like froot-loops.

Every time my professor says "courtly love" I think he's saying "Courtney Love", and I wish he was, because it would certainly liven up our discussion of the Renaissance.

The cashier at El Azteca thinks I speak Spanish. And the last few times I've gone in she's only spoken to me in Spanish. I can understand, but i can't respond. I therefore come off as an arrogant, condescending jerk who refuses to communicate in the language more comfortable for her. I try to throw in as many graciases as possible, because I know how hard life is for the people she doesn't like. Namely, Allie. For some reason this woman hates Allie. She never announces Allie's order when it's ready, and the food will sit on the counter until we happen to check. Last time I walked by and she said "Here, your friend's food" and handed me the fish taco.

I walked home today to find a package on the front porch for our new roommate. It was a large package. "Omaha steaks" read the label. Awesome.

But you sat on your hands

For a while now, I've been anxiously waiting for the day when I'd have internet at home. I've dreamed of the activities that would once more be virtually available within the cozy walls of my picturesque room. The HBLL 5th floor is short on charm, and the character of the curtains, the bedspread, the red floor and Carl my pet Hermit Crab promise inspiration, while I sit in my pajamas with popcorn at hand. But...nothing. I have nothing to say to any of you. Dear readers, have we reached that point in our relationship? Have I told you everything there is to tell? Will we now spend meals avoiding eye contact, staring at uneaten peas on our plates, wondering how we ended up here? Will our conversations be reduced to small talk (or type as it were)? Is there Blog-couples counseling?

More fish in the sea

I often wish I was (were?) Harry Potter. No. I always wish I was (were?). And today I came one step closer.

Opening my copy of the novel we were discussing in class, I found written in the margin "Odysseus has boar-tusk wound".

Thank you Half-Blood Prince. I bet you loved my mom, huh?

Like a copcar

Edward Cullens. Not McCullen. I'm obviously a huge fan.

New Hampshire's license plate reads: "Live Free or Die." Sounds like a threat.What If I want to live oppressed? Am I not free to do so? Must I die if I choose not to live free? And isn't that not very free?

Snuggies are on sale at Smiths.

Sometimes I walk into the library restroom and the lights are off. Confusing. But then I look over and see someone sleeping on the couch. K really? Of all the places to take a nap?