Man fuck this shit. Seriously. I'm a terrible blogger, I'm absolutely terrible at it. I'm not funny, and I never remember to update. So why fucking blog?
Oh, right, you guys. Because every time Kate updates, I feel all guilty for neglecting you, helloblogtime.
Speaking of neglecting things, hey, George, how many words do you still have to write before Tuesday night? Sucker! This is why quitters win.
Anyway... This coming week is going to be full of hell for me, just like it will for everyone else. Unless some of you actually did work over break? Ha. I know, right? The only work I did was knitting a mitten (except half a thumb) and a "cowl" (which does not look like that; it's blue-green and not as wide; also, I usually call it a "neck scarf thingy"; I will tell the knit-nernet that I used that pattern, but really I just used it as a guide for how many stitches to cast on--I didn't even use the size needles it called for, or indeed look at the pattern after casting on, instead opting to knit until the yarn was gone, i.e. I was tired of knitting, so, like 5 hours later, which makes me mildly distressed at how long things take to knit, even though it was a project that took just an afternoon--if one afternoon is about 5 hours of continuous knitting, how many hours will these mittens have eaten, when one took me one day plus two evenings?) and sitting on the couch. Sorry for the huge parenthetical. If I'd been willing to de-parenthesize, it wouldn't have been a huge run-on, but I was not willing to relinquish my parallel parenthetical structure (see it?). Parallel structure is one of my very favorite literary devices.
I also made a pie, but it wasn't very good. Friggin' disappointing recipes. I was supposed to make "caramel," but following the directions only gave me some, like, sugar covered in butter. Which... I mean... The pie tasted fine, you know, totally edible for a sugar+butter+apples+cranberries+pie crust concoction (which are hard to screw up--you can actually make a really tasty pie by taking some apples and cranberries, putting them in a pie crust with a little sugar, and baking it for 40 minutes; pies are tasty and nice and easy to make and eat), it was just really disappointing for having been a lot of work. Also I burned myself! Butter gets really hot, and when you stir it really intensely because you don't want that smokey smell to continue, sometimes it flies out of the pan and you say "ow." So, yeah, disappointing but not terrible. But it was drastically overshadowed by CHEESECAKE. Which my sister makes. I had a slice and a half of pie and a piece of cheesecake and my life was good.
Anyway... Yeah. Now I have blogged. I'll write about all the cancer I'm going to want this week at the time when I actually want it. Ugh.
Also, I have heard to Johnny Cash at Fulsom Prison probably 30 times since I've been home. I should maybe stop leaving it on "repeat" all night while I sleep. I mean, I only know the whole thing almost by heart, you know. Nothing too crazy. Just... I mean. Yes. Too crazy. It's one thing to know all the songs, but to know all the songs plus all the interjections is a little nuts. "Nobody at all ever climbed that wall, but I'm gonna be the first," and then blah blah, eventually, "There's never been a man ever shook this can, but I knew a man who tried: the newspapers called it a jailbreak plan, but I know it was suicide." And then we lead into "Dirty Old Egg-Sucking Dog," with a cute little thing about how it's a love song, Johnny Cash is such a... Seriously. Crazy. Me. Yes. Totally.
Goodnight. (Also did I mention my sleep schedule is TOTALLY FUCKED FOREVER?)
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