I’m alive.
Well, those of you who read this blog typically talk to me outside of this anyway, so that really wasn’t a worry.
Anyway, just a quick update before I buckle down and write my Othello paper (due in 17 hours, give or take). Life is keeping me incredibly busy, but hopefully I’ll have time for a detailed update (travel-log, blerg) tomorrow or Wednesday.
Ode to a Summer’s Day at the Oregon National Primate Research Center (a Shakespearean sonnet)
Relaxing out on the wooden bench.
We expect to smell a fragrant bouquet,
But we gag from the putrid monkey stench.
What does a monkey smell like? You may ask—
Take the smelliest things in creation,
Mix them all together and in them bask;
All will pray for mercy in prostration.
The adult monkeys smell the worst of all,
Covered in mud and blood and grime and poo.
But the babies with cuteness will enthrall,
No vomitous stench, only cute lil’ coos.
In the catch, times it by infinity.
The smell makes me want a lobotomy.
*****
Minesweeper (a haiku)
Click. Click. Right click. Click.
One wrong move and it’s over.
Click. Click—BOOM! Dang it.
*****
How High-Fructose Corn Syrup Killed My Dream To Be America’s Next Top Model.
O sweet sugary goodness!
How you make my sodas complete!
Rife with enough chemical compounds
To rot out my teeth.
O great causer of obesity in mice!
Author of leptin resistance!
You taste so exquisite,
Yet you will be the death
Of my dream to be a super-model.
That dream was already quashed, however,
By neither of my parents being over six feet tall.
So we shall be friends, my sweet lover.
Come, give mama some sugar!
On Love:
“I love you.”
A whisper.
A touch.
“Please don’t do this to me.”
A prayer.
A wish.
“Just a bit longer.”
I roll into Chevron on fumes.
“That’ll do car. That’ll do.”
*****
On An Article of Clothing:
They call to me
From the mighty depths of the closet:
“Wear us”
“caress us”
“gaze upon us.”
Impracticality! My brain shouts, They will just bring suffering!
Promises of beauty:
“Elongate the leg-line!”
“Shape the calf!”
“Add inches to your height!”
Don’t give in! The frontal cortex pleads, You will only get
Pain
Suffering
Embarrassment
When you fall.
I reach.
Shouts of joy bounce off the walls.
I finger the shape.
I slip into the violently pink stilettos
And fall flat on my face.
I told you so.
*****
On a Hero:
He soars to the greatest of heights
Rescuing fair projector screens from captivity.
The brave knight in khaki
Brandishes hypothetical constructs and scales of measurement
As his sole defense against the horde
Of disaffected college students.
They come in droves:
“You lieeeeeeee,” they gnash their teeth in anger, “Too haaaaaard!”
It is too much for the brave knight to bear.
He is overcome with the desire to boost his ratemyprofessor.com score.
Two words escape his defeated lips:
“Extra credit!”
*****
On . . . Togas? (a haiku):
Sheet over one arm
And wrapped around the body—
It’s party time, man!
I should be doing something productive, like finishing unpacking and organizing my room, cleaning out my car, maybe doing a few lit searches, or even . . . not writing yet another blog post?
Instead, I am sitting in my kitchen eating Flavor Blasted Goldfish, banging away at my keyboard while the spin cycle on the washing machine drones in the background. This kind of Goldfish reminds me of how Jenna could polish off a bag of these faster than you could say “THAT MONKEY HAS HERPES!!” Which in turn reminds me of everything associated with Oregon. And how I need to bring my neurobiology textbook to FHE tonight for Brad, since we wound up in the same ward. With Steve. What a crazy random happenstance (seriously. I was very surprised yesterday).
Which also reminds me that I need to get Drs H and S to sign an add/drop card for my participation on their research teams.
I have a lot to do.
Back to . . . trying to be productive?
Talking to Brad about our schedules for this semester has made me eternally grateful that I have paid my dues in 8 AM classes. I mean, I still want to kill Dr S for scheduling our lab meeting for 8 AM on Fridays, but I can handle one day a week of having to get up near the buttcrack of dawn as opposed to having to do it every single day and then having to remain awake for four other classes that same day. If I was able to knock a couple classes out by 10 AM and then be done for the day, that would have been awesome. But the powers-that-be in the Psychology department and the College encouraged (read: paid extra) professors to teach evening classes, which meant I had to stay functional and be ready to return to campus at 4 PM at least twice a week to take the classes I needed.
I love not “having to take any classes.”
Yes, I do have an evening class this semester. It also happens to be the only class I have on Wednesdays. It is also a class that I am extremely excited to take. Creative Writing–I get to do something that I enjoy (obviously) and boost my GPA in the meantime. It’s almost like taking a soccer class–getting graded for something that you love to do and that you do well (or not-so-well). Except you don’t get to knock people over. I mean, I could knock my fellow creative writers over, but then the campus police would get called in and I might get kicked out of school.
I'm a student at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I graduate in December with a degree in Psychology. I also blog at http://rhesuspeanutbuttercups.blogspot.com, but it's a private blog. This is my random musings blog.
