You know: Woe
Aug. 20th, 2007 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tilly_stratfordFather Lucifer you never looked so sane
You always did prefer the drizzle to the rain
Tell me that you're still in love with that milkmaid
How the Lizzies, how's your Jesus Chirst been hanging
Yes, I love my dear little room, I love the fact that I'm living independently in Oslo, but this is just not worth it.
I hate the Feminism course. I'm wasting my time. I just can't explain exactly how... unhappy I get at the thought of taking this course for a year, or even six motnhs. I haven't been able to write about it, it's gotten me so depressed.
And I see my new classmates (a good gang, I think), and they're really jazzed up about this class. They chose this and are thrilled to get in, while it was the third choice on my list (I can't even remember why I chose it now) and I was horrified I got into it.
I just... I mean, first day, our professor showed us around camp, and only showed us the houses that had been named after women (along with botchering every part of the story of "the angel" Apollon (Apollon is the University's symbol), instantly making me dislike her). All semester we're going to basically sit in a cramped room and "reflect". I just can't do that.
I have a plan to get out of this, but I have to do some research first.
I mean, I'm a feminist, I chose to label myself as that. I think I've been a feminist even since the day when I was six, and when asking a boy in my class if I could join them in their awesome game of apocalyptic war in the schoolyard, he told me the only way I could join in the game was if I was cook to the brave boy soldiers, and I promptly bopped him on the nose. I'm just not the kind of feminist who feels any urge to write a 50-page essay on it.
So today, contemplating all this in the Male Research class, I did what I often do when I'm bored. I drew. I tried to make a hatched drawing of Michelango's David, which was pictured on one of the book covers on the next desk. I got a chuckle out of that, at least: I'm taking Feminism (as for now), and spend the classes drawing naked, muscular men! I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing.
Anyway, other things in my life: I believe I have some sort of relative -multi-dimensional gateway in my room. This I think because yesterday when I was taking off my ring (this is the ring, the one Snooky bought me for our first anniversary), it slipped about 30 cm above the floor, I heard a single thunk, and it was gone. And I still haven't found it. There was nothing in the vicinity it could have landed in (except my slippers, and I checked those), and I was puzzled since I couldn't hear it bounce.
Therefore, I think that either the gnomes that lives under my bed have taken it and worship it as some sort of silver idol; it'll return soon; or there is a dimensional gateway in my room, just outside of the carpet boundaries.
Me and Snooky were channel-surfing, when we ended up on a pretty neat-looking Dracula adaption. It looked pretty new (pretty lightning and whatnot), so I was puzzled as to why one of the extras looked peculiarly like a skinny, teenaged Sylvester McCoy. I'm waiting for the credits, and indeed - it is! (Well, apart from the teenaged part. Man, that guy looked young in his thirties). Pretty good film, though Snooky had to shut me up for the entire ending of the movie, as I was going, "Wait, that didn't happen in the book. Neither did that! That definately didn't happen in the book." And, you know, Frank Langella was pretty sexy. I have learned this now.
And now, I think... time for some Fred Astaire.
You always did prefer the drizzle to the rain
Tell me that you're still in love with that milkmaid
How the Lizzies, how's your Jesus Chirst been hanging
Yes, I love my dear little room, I love the fact that I'm living independently in Oslo, but this is just not worth it.
I hate the Feminism course. I'm wasting my time. I just can't explain exactly how... unhappy I get at the thought of taking this course for a year, or even six motnhs. I haven't been able to write about it, it's gotten me so depressed.
And I see my new classmates (a good gang, I think), and they're really jazzed up about this class. They chose this and are thrilled to get in, while it was the third choice on my list (I can't even remember why I chose it now) and I was horrified I got into it.
I just... I mean, first day, our professor showed us around camp, and only showed us the houses that had been named after women (along with botchering every part of the story of "the angel" Apollon (Apollon is the University's symbol), instantly making me dislike her). All semester we're going to basically sit in a cramped room and "reflect". I just can't do that.
I have a plan to get out of this, but I have to do some research first.
I mean, I'm a feminist, I chose to label myself as that. I think I've been a feminist even since the day when I was six, and when asking a boy in my class if I could join them in their awesome game of apocalyptic war in the schoolyard, he told me the only way I could join in the game was if I was cook to the brave boy soldiers, and I promptly bopped him on the nose. I'm just not the kind of feminist who feels any urge to write a 50-page essay on it.
So today, contemplating all this in the Male Research class, I did what I often do when I'm bored. I drew. I tried to make a hatched drawing of Michelango's David, which was pictured on one of the book covers on the next desk. I got a chuckle out of that, at least: I'm taking Feminism (as for now), and spend the classes drawing naked, muscular men! I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing.
Anyway, other things in my life: I believe I have some sort of relative -multi-dimensional gateway in my room. This I think because yesterday when I was taking off my ring (this is the ring, the one Snooky bought me for our first anniversary), it slipped about 30 cm above the floor, I heard a single thunk, and it was gone. And I still haven't found it. There was nothing in the vicinity it could have landed in (except my slippers, and I checked those), and I was puzzled since I couldn't hear it bounce.
Therefore, I think that either the gnomes that lives under my bed have taken it and worship it as some sort of silver idol; it'll return soon; or there is a dimensional gateway in my room, just outside of the carpet boundaries.
Me and Snooky were channel-surfing, when we ended up on a pretty neat-looking Dracula adaption. It looked pretty new (pretty lightning and whatnot), so I was puzzled as to why one of the extras looked peculiarly like a skinny, teenaged Sylvester McCoy. I'm waiting for the credits, and indeed - it is! (Well, apart from the teenaged part. Man, that guy looked young in his thirties). Pretty good film, though Snooky had to shut me up for the entire ending of the movie, as I was going, "Wait, that didn't happen in the book. Neither did that! That definately didn't happen in the book." And, you know, Frank Langella was pretty sexy. I have learned this now.
And now, I think... time for some Fred Astaire.
