I went on a trip!

Fourth day of the Ludi Romani.

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Don't expect many Friday or Saturday entries in this blog this year; I went over to Ryter's on Friday night, and we made dinner together-- well, he did most of the work, I just cut up some veggies and chicken and stuck the rice in the rice cooker. He did the actual cooking-- a Japanese curry that was really good. Then we had ice cream sundaes, because the weather was in the nineties with ridiculous humidity. There was a slight disagreement as to whether they were "sprinkles" or "jimmies" but all was resolved.

We've decided to make this a weekly event-- we'll cook together, and make something neither of us has had before. Note to self-- no gazpacho.

Anyway, Saturday we went to Salem, Mass to see the Peabody Essex Museum, which was very cool. I've never been before, but it's a favorite of Ryter's. It was pretty cool-- lots of maritime art, especially figureheads from ships, but also a large collection of Asian and Native American art. One thing that I noticed was that in a display, there was a woman's shoe from the 1700s, clearly worn, and I thought to myself, I wonder what the woman who wore this shoe would have said had she heard that 250 years later, it would be on display in a museum for people to look at and marvel at how ridiculously small her feet must have been?

There was also a carved ivory tusk that impressed the hell out of me, it was so finely detailed with little people and animals (and made long enough ago that the ivory part doesn't bother me); and a wooden Indian altar that was just amazing. If you're ever in the area and get sick of the kitschy witch stuff, see the museum. No, see it regardless, it's way better than the witch museums.

Speaking of kitschy witch stuff, we walked around a little after we finished at the museums. We went to a couple wannabe-witch stores, the kinds with silver pentagrams and incense and crystal pendulums where you can get a palm reading in the back room. Ryter wanted to get his fortune told but it's Salem, witch central, so you know they charged ridiculous fees. We settled for looking around and getting a smoothie (me) and a celery-apple-carrot-whatever juice (Ryter) at a place that advertised "We have wheat grass!" and had fliers for various "spiritual mediums" and a "school of conjuration."

Then we wandered back to the car, and as we went we looked around; we passed through the Old Burying Point Cemetery, as I wanted to look at the gravestones, but then we realized that thanks to the placement of the paths we were walking on graves themselves and left post-haste. There's something inherently disrespectful about walking over a grave, even if the grave is so old that the remains are surely nothing but bones and even the headstone is crumbling and unreadable. Of course, nothing can top the disrespect that I saw when my high school English class went to Salem and were told to eat our lunches in the cemetery; bad enough that most of my classmates picnicked on the grass between the headstones (I forced my friends to eat on the edge of it, by a tree, so we weren't as blatantly disrespectful), but the chaperones perched on one of the above-ground tombs and used it as a picnic table.

Now, I don't think there's that much significance to a body after death but honestly. You do not use a tomb as a picnic table. Somebody put their loved one in there. That still irks me.

We headed back to Durham after that since Shrewd was bringing up various things I had forgotten (bathrobe, shower sandals, phone charger, etc-- all important things) and anyway, it was really, really hot and we were tired.

Fun times, though. Even though Salem is so very kitschy, the museum is nice and honestly, I like laughing at kitschy and spending no money on it.

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Cellamica was gone for the weekend so I had the room to myself for the day, which I spent doing my mountains of homework. Very boring. Got it all done though, which is all that matters.

"Just because you get inspiration out of it doesn't mean that inspiration went into it." ~Hemingway

I have some things I'm afraid of that are rational. Things like car accidents or getting sick. But I've noticed something-- rational fears aren't the ones people think about all the time. It's the irrational ones that always pop into our heads.

Or maybe we notice them more because they ARE so ridiculous. But either way, I catch myself worrying about irrational things way more than rational ones.

I'm afraid that people can see me through pictures of them. Like, if I have a photo of someone on my desk, they can see me through the eyes of their photo-self. This even applies to magazine covers. Consequently, all the photos in my room face away from my bed, so that the people in them aren't watching me sleeping. If they do face the bed, they face the foot of the bed, where the curtain blocks the view (I have a four-poster bed). I turn magazines over if they have a person on the cover whose eyes I can see-- if their eyes are closed in the picture, they can't see me. One exception to this is my picture of Ryter and me, which sort of vaguely faces my bed, but not the head of it. I try to overcome this fear, as it is rather annoying to have to find just the right location in my room to get dressed in. But I still turn pictures around sometimes.

My other irrational fear comes up any time I either have weird food cravings, gain weight in my abdominal area, or have my period a little later than I expected. I have this irrational fear that I am pregnant. This would not be irrational were it not for the fact that I am not having sex, thus, pregnancy would be highly unlikely. I suppose it's conceit on my part, clearly, I am saintly enough to deserve the next Immaculate Conception; but still. I fight the urge to take a pregnancy test despite KNOWING I cannot, can NOT be pregnant. When I do finally become sexually active, I will make sure to inform everyone, so that they can buy stock in pregnancy test manufacturers, because I guarantee that no amount of oral contraceptives or condoms will prevent me from peeing on that stick every few mornings.

Does anyone else have any irrational fears?

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I saw No Reservations with Shrewd tonight. It was a very good movie, and if you like chick flicks you'll like it. If you like chick flicks and cooking, you'll love it. Shrewd adored it; then again, for dinner tonight for just the two of us (my parents have thankfully gone to to the Cape for two weeks and the Brother is in California with his drum corps), she made salmon with cheese polenta topped with tomato and orange pepper sauce, and spinach on the side.

I love it when my sister cooks, she's so much better at it than I am. Plus I always feel like I'm in some schmancy bistro, except the cook eats with me and monopolizes the conversation, and I have to help clean up afterwards.

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New additions to the blogroll!

The Comics Curmudgeon is a very funny blog about newspaper comics and how ridiculous they are. Check it out.

I've also been reading The Dilbert Blog, which is by Scott Adams, creator of the Dilbert comics, and is also quite funny but also often philosophical in nature.

And then there's the perennial geek favorite, Wil Wheaton's Blog.

I've also discovered Rock, Paper, Scissors, Gun, a very well-written personal blog that I've been checking out lately.

Then there's two blogs written by medical types, one by a med student called More Cowbell, and the other by a doctor called Doctor Anonymous.

And finally, another personal blog by someone who can actually write, called Living with Multiple Personalities. Check 'em out!

Because it ain't cookin' 'til somethin's on fire

Floralia continues. I figured in honor of the festival, here's the day's flower:



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Uh... I was tired all day, despite going to bed ridiculously early last night (10:30); skipped PLTL... what else.

Today was the last day of Group. This semester's group was so much nicer than last, as in, we didn't lose 75% of our members by the end. For the last session, we just went around and talked about how awesome everyone else was. It was a totally back-patting extravaganza. Still, everyone was really great and I'll miss seeing them. I don't think I'll do the Group next year; this would be a hard act to follow and anyway, I won't be seeing the psychiatrist at the school so they won't LET me go to Group. Oh well. Maybe I'll do the Anxiety group, if they let me... probably not, though.

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Ryter sacrificed his kitchen to me today, and as I struggled to deal with his tiny counters (apartments are not conductive to baking) I made massive amounts of cookies and one massive cookie, all with more chocolate chips than cookie dough, and we made nachos with mountains of cheese and as Ryter attempted to brown his hamburger meat something in his stove caught fire and next thing we knew he was pouring water over it and I was running around opening windows and turning on fans...

It was good, though, and the smoke detector stopped screaming once I took it off the wall and left it dangling there. We were celebrating the completion of his novel and I was destressing by baking (it's the best way I know to relax), so two birds were killed with a large, floury stone. Plus he now owns various baking supplies. Not that I expect them to ever get used; I used his measuring cups on their maiden voyage. I was just glad he had them...

Bouncing Graviton Particle Beams Since 1966

My internet connection at home is always choppier than on campus, so since I got here last night and soon lost access to Blogger (but not livejournal, oddly enough) I wasn't able to post. This is the first time in like forever I haven't posted so momentous occasion. However, I did write a post, so I'm putting it up now. I wrote it Friday night, for time frame.

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So I'm at home now, and Spring Break has officially started. Thus far I have been here for four hours and have spent 50% of that time talking with Writer Guy on AIM and the other 50% dancing. For some reason, I come home, and I find myself dancing in the kitchen to the song mentioned in my previous post with my goofy older sister doing the same as she cooks dinner, which is about 500 times better than college fare. Then I find myself chilling in my brother's room as Shrewd prints out something ridiculously long because she's too nice to her friends and I'm dancing again.

Dancing is my natural reaction to being happy. I can't actually dance, mind you, besides like the rumba and foxtrot, but I just naturally move around and I move around more when I'm happy, and I move in patterns and it's sort of a vague facsimile of dancing. You can tell I'm happy if I walk like I'm about to break out into an impromptu musical number and if I can't stop smiling, which is another reaction I have. I don't have a nervous laugh or a nervous smile; when I laugh and smile it is because I'm in a fabulous mood.

I hate that I can't really dance at school, because I can only actually dance when I know full well that everyone around me dances just as badly and randomly as I do. Or when I'm all alone.

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In other news, that cold that I was over last night? As in, I was totally and completely over it, but just feeling ill for other reasons?

It's baaaaaaaaa-aaaack.

I'm pretty sure at some point I felt my lung break apart in my chest and rise up through my trachea. I sound like Vader's lovechild. I feel perfectly fine, though, until I start to cough.

This means, too, that I totally was acting as a biological weapon yesterday when I was wandering around and breathing near people. Great.

Meh. At least it's not pneu-- oh, wait, best not finish that sentence, or it will be, and then I will blame Mistake, and then I will have to cause her great pain and suffering for the pain and suffering she would have inflicted on me in her small act of bioterrorism.

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Anyway... I have to clean the whole house by next Wednesday, because that is when Writer Guy is coming over. To my house. Where my parents live. And yet, must find a way to do this without actually having him meet them... Mummy has promised she will continue her rampant workaholicism, and not wander downstairs, but the issue arises as to what happens if Daddy comes home early. I really, really don't want to make Writer Guy get grilled by my folks. The ride home with the bajillion questions ("What's his major? What's he going to do with that? Where's he from? Who's his favorite Trek villain..." okay it was my mom so the questions were a little weird) was bad enough. He said he didn't care but meeting the parents at only the third date is so very high school, and honestly, when you're dating a guy three years older than you you try to deemphasize the age difference...

I'm going to cook for him. His response to this idea, while not being bad in and of itself, was... unexpected. Though at least "Oh, that's hot" is better than "Erm... will I survive this encounter?" which would have surprised me less but irritated me more...

I Communicate With My Ears

I love conversations, both as a listener and a talker. What people say is important to me, and I'm often most affected by words, not actions. I love to hear compliments from others. Music is very important to me. It's difficult to find me without my iPod or laptop playing music aloud...

How Do You Communicate?

Ugh, I want to go to bed.

Yesterday was my first day of work. It was pretty standard- sign a bunch of forms, watch some training videos, get a tour of the store... Then they stuck me at the fitting room, which isn't as easy an assignment as it sounds, because besides sorting the clothes that are returned and getting them ready to go back, they also have the fitting room person put security tags on new items and hang them up to go out to the racks. So always busy.

Mummy, Daddy, and the Brother met me after work and we went Christmas tree shopping. The very first tree the guy grabbed for us was absolutely perfect, so the trip was easier than most. Then we checked out the inside of the nursery there, and Daddy saw a miniature key lime tree that came up to my hip and produced real, edible fruit. He was raving about it. Mummy was all set to buy it for him but I had to remind her that a) the tree requires to be placed by a window that gets direct sunlight, of which we have almost none, and b) the chances that Daddy would actually remember to take care of it are pretty slim. Ah, reality checks. Always fun.

After the tree was up and Mummy had gone to work lighting it, I made dinner for everyone (I always cook dinner one of the first three nights after I come home) and then after our 9:00 meal (oops) we watched the movie I mentioned yesterday.

Then today, I woke up at noon, wandered downstairs for breakfast with every intent of going back upstairs afterwards to finish that biology paper that was due today, and the next thing I knew I was hanging wreaths out the windows, then decorating the tree, then planning dinner, then at Home Goods getting a set of burgundy glasses with my dad, god knows why, he drinks burgundy maybe once or twice a year, then I was getting groceries- and then at 5:30 pm I realized as we drove back with the groceries that I still had a paper to finish.

Oops.

It didn't take very long, though, and I was still able to be roped into helping with dinner again. Except we had rotisserie chicken, and no one thought to explain to me in my rotisserie virginity that it takes forever. We had dinner at 10:00. Tomorrow, I intend to serve dinner before my normal bedtime.

It's important to set goals for yourself, you know.