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You will believe a bear can fly.
Aug. 1st, 2010 07:12 pmGood morning to me.
Here sits a bowl of granola, bit of yogurt and raisins and cranberries - my breakfast for the moment, which may also be accompanied by toast with peanut and apple butter... and christmas tea, the gift from my aunt and uncle.
Went to bed at midnight, slept fitfully until I woke up at 5:30 and stayed up, unable to get back to sleep. Finally woke up proper at 6:30, came down half an hour later. There's a whole lot of laundry to do - mine and the school's - and a couple floors to clean, perhaps a deck to mop, table and shelf surfaces to clean, and couple thousand dollars or so to send off electronically if the internet ever comes back up. Meanwhile, I hope those housing administrators don't give my sweet new digs to someone else... I did pay a deposit, after all...
Four more weeks... in this moment, I feel ready enough to endure them. The days feel a little less lonely, the carnal sensations more easily reined in. I think I can understand Tim's appreciation for early mornings, especially in this school - the world seems silent and peaceful, a world at rest just minutes before the start of a new day. My music is playing in the background, filling the void and stimulating my thoughts while I write.
What should I write about, anyway? Most of my comedy is reserved for others here. When I get into modes like this, I think of my step-mother lightly prodding me for conversation: "What shall we talk about?" Suddenly, I'm obligated to make small talk, which doesn't come too naturally to me. But there's no one goading me here to speak my mind, save for the hidden, secret prompts of my subconscious and the urge to decompress, to unleash my thoughts into comprehensive text.
Lately, I've felt the urge to read Sapphic poetry. Not for any kind of steamy thrill, mind you, (though it's hard to say that wouldn't a bonus) but also because I feel somewhat sympathetic to her plight: Trapped on an island, in a school where she is an authority figure, amid young pupils that are easy to fall in love with. From what I've inferred, Sappho's poetry isn't that of indulgence, but of yearning... feelings longing to be reciprocated, an open heart hoping to receive as it gives like short, painful exhalations. Though the equipment's markedly different, I feel like I could sympathize with those sort of thoughts, despite my unfamiliarity with poetry.
Soon I'll be among those closer to my age. Soon I shall be a student among peers, learning a craft I've felt I was born to do. Soon, I will be among girls I can cast eyes at without any sort of criminal guilt. Four weeks, twenty-eight days. I'm almost there, I just have to keep myself focused and channel my inner kitchen elemental: A welcoming, hard-working, benevolent force, maintaining a house of learning and creative force. Here, I am an older, responsible sibling to all who pay to be here - and sometimes I'm also a friend... as long as those seeking friendship don't piss me off too much with rampant stupidity, that is.
Man, there have been some interestingly stupid people coming and going through here.
Well, time for work.
Here sits a bowl of granola, bit of yogurt and raisins and cranberries - my breakfast for the moment, which may also be accompanied by toast with peanut and apple butter... and christmas tea, the gift from my aunt and uncle.
Went to bed at midnight, slept fitfully until I woke up at 5:30 and stayed up, unable to get back to sleep. Finally woke up proper at 6:30, came down half an hour later. There's a whole lot of laundry to do - mine and the school's - and a couple floors to clean, perhaps a deck to mop, table and shelf surfaces to clean, and couple thousand dollars or so to send off electronically if the internet ever comes back up. Meanwhile, I hope those housing administrators don't give my sweet new digs to someone else... I did pay a deposit, after all...
Four more weeks... in this moment, I feel ready enough to endure them. The days feel a little less lonely, the carnal sensations more easily reined in. I think I can understand Tim's appreciation for early mornings, especially in this school - the world seems silent and peaceful, a world at rest just minutes before the start of a new day. My music is playing in the background, filling the void and stimulating my thoughts while I write.
What should I write about, anyway? Most of my comedy is reserved for others here. When I get into modes like this, I think of my step-mother lightly prodding me for conversation: "What shall we talk about?" Suddenly, I'm obligated to make small talk, which doesn't come too naturally to me. But there's no one goading me here to speak my mind, save for the hidden, secret prompts of my subconscious and the urge to decompress, to unleash my thoughts into comprehensive text.
Lately, I've felt the urge to read Sapphic poetry. Not for any kind of steamy thrill, mind you, (though it's hard to say that wouldn't a bonus) but also because I feel somewhat sympathetic to her plight: Trapped on an island, in a school where she is an authority figure, amid young pupils that are easy to fall in love with. From what I've inferred, Sappho's poetry isn't that of indulgence, but of yearning... feelings longing to be reciprocated, an open heart hoping to receive as it gives like short, painful exhalations. Though the equipment's markedly different, I feel like I could sympathize with those sort of thoughts, despite my unfamiliarity with poetry.
Soon I'll be among those closer to my age. Soon I shall be a student among peers, learning a craft I've felt I was born to do. Soon, I will be among girls I can cast eyes at without any sort of criminal guilt. Four weeks, twenty-eight days. I'm almost there, I just have to keep myself focused and channel my inner kitchen elemental: A welcoming, hard-working, benevolent force, maintaining a house of learning and creative force. Here, I am an older, responsible sibling to all who pay to be here - and sometimes I'm also a friend... as long as those seeking friendship don't piss me off too much with rampant stupidity, that is.
Man, there have been some interestingly stupid people coming and going through here.
Well, time for work.