Why talk about that

The end of a week, I'm sitting at another coffee shop near campus having another coffee, a simple, over priced sandwich, and a glass of water.

Though that's not much to talk about.

What do I have to talk about today? Geeze, not much really. I've psydo- planned something for the first of the summer, tho I won't know for sure about it for another week or so.

I can't talk about that.

I've been holding a volunteer package to a local school for about a week now and I've had too much school work to sit down with it, not to mention my needing a police check first.

I can't talk about that.

I'm reading midsummer night's dream, sense and sensibility, the tempest, a book of poetry, and some other novel that I've an essay to write eventually.

But that's all business as usual, so why talk about that.

This is comfortable. I like studenting. I feel as though I could do this for a while yet.

I wonder what people think about my being a student again.

Perhaps that's something to talk about.

sent, with love, from class

A Break

So here's the thing. I had a second yoga class today. I felt disorganized. Rushed.

And now I'm sitting at sbux. smelly. having a coffee.

This is counter productive.

Isn't it?

I dont know. I would have thought I should have had a booster juice or
something.

Man. It's been a long time since I've writen.

At Jill and Steve's there was a tea cup that had broken in half.
Cleaved. Like a log. I asked if the madhatter had come for tea recently.

"Oh I couldn't possibly have another. Oh, well, if you insist... just
half a cup though"

I laughed. But I'm a geek like that.

In fact while I'm writing this I am thinking of how to get a costume
together for Burtons "wonderland" that comes out in march.

It would be a nice break from the usual movie going.

Anyone want to join me?

Tshirt

Since I am completely iDdicted to my new gadget I figured I should at least share a bit of what I'm doing with it.

Today, while i was hanging around the second cup on campus between classes, I was staring down at this little device I own.

It's such a little device to demand so much of my attention.

Anyways, as I was staring down at it, waiting for it to do something spectacular a tall shadow fell over the screen. I looked up to and an English prof was smirking at me.

On this particular afternoon a group of a hundred students were gathered together, screaming and chanting and competing for something or other (and five years ago it likely would have been an exciting thing to have watched, but five years ago I was doing my first undegrad and didn't have a new iPhone to stare at while waiting for spectacular to happen).

He asked me how I was able to study with all the noise.

It took me a moment. Wow, I thought. He's asked me a question... and I haven't responded yet.

Mumble mumbled, I replied. Awkwardly star struck. What is wrong with me? I thought. I am more articulate than this.

Well, he said, I suppose if you're plugged in you're likley not to hear any noise at all, are you.

Yes. I'm. Not. It's new.

Indeed, he smiled, see you next class then. It was good talking to you.

Same, said I, same.

Whoops, I swore

Cass,

I know no one hardly uses email anymore, but it holds a special place in my heart. Not as special as the postal service, though I don't use it as often as I might make it sound.

Mostly it holds a special place because I can't stand the Peeping Tom feeling I get when I open a friends profile page in facebook. I like my privacy, though keeping this privacy makes keeping in touch with ppl a lot more work.

I keep a bit of a blog, some points about what i'm doing, funny shit that I happen upon or cause to happen upon other people. I keep it to stay in contact with people whom I've moved away from, which is somehing I've just learned about it. I've never told people about it while I've been living around them. Though while I was tending bar I rarely wrote at all, likely because the friends I made while in ireland don't often use the internet. They are more apt to use the post, which, as mentioned before, I love but never use.

Anyways, Cass, this is an invitation to read about my life, through my blog, if you so wish. This is not to say that a person needs an invitation to read it, just that sometimes it's nice to have one.

We'll talk again soon, and perhaps I'll drop in to see everyone before too long.

In the mean time, take care.

b

Oh, and I've made this a post on my blog, I hiope you don't mind. The link to the site is in my signature.

(this post also marks my first post via my mobile. neat, eh!)

--b

untitled

I am pretty tired so I'll have to make this short. In the background I'm listening to @neilhimself read from his book that I bought for Josie's September birthday, wrapped for christmas and still sits undelivered underneath a Christmas tree that has likely been packed up till next year.

Mands, we should get on that.

The book is called The Graveyard Book in which Neil Gaiman retells the Jungle Book story. I didn't get to the ending, because around November I was feeling guilty about reading a present I bought for an eleven year old girl and I was reading it myself, so I don't know how it ends and I don't know how similar it is.

There's a few hours of Neil reading posted on his website, perhaps I'll fit it in yet tonight.

Though I hope I don't.

Today was Reading Poetry, EN120. I liked it, but it'll be some tough reading. Not a lot of reading, but difficult.

I have to have Sense and Sensibility read by Monday.

Also a play, I am sure. I'll likely have to have a play read by friday.

So much for having thursdays off.

Take care, sleep well and I'll write to you again soon. Perhaps to tell you about the two hours we waited in a line at Wilfs, miss two periods of the Canadian Jr's only to take a bus back to the house, catch the third and over time periods while eating pizza.

Actually, that's pretty much it.

Hair's hoping

Here's hoping that sometime soon i figure out what the heck is going on with the font sizes on this page. when i looked back though it appears as though I've been an eight year old with his first box of crayons and a newly painted hallway.

Moving on to items at hand: today is day 1 of my twelve weeks of an english lit bender. I was hoping that before today I would have had a chance to get a hair cut.

For two reasons. One, because it's my first day of school and I want my new threads looking good underneath a new do.

And two: since I haven't had a trim in a while quite shortly i'll be looking a hell of a lot more frazzled and confused than I actually am. Soon after that I will be as frazzled and confused as I looked before, but my look will have spiralled towards, and out of control mind you, a state of frazz and confus that no woman, man or child alive has bore witness to.

I've class in thirty minutes.

I miss you.

b