FUCK I HAVEN'T BLOGGED IN A WEEK

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?)

FOR THE RECORD, I HATE WHEN I WHINE

Really, I do. On the other hand, I do it all the time. It's a thing that I do, as we all know. And so I just want to clarify that I didn't mean to whine last time. I just decided that I might as well use the blog to express things, since I think when I try to do that in real life I tend to be even whinier. I'm not sure if that's the case, but, you know, whatever. I'm always more articulate in print, even if it just winds up being articulate whining. Anyway, what I mean is, posting something here isn't intended to be passive-aggressive or guilt-trip-y or anything like that, it's just a way to express things that I would probably otherwise keep to myself.

On a sidenote: this post contains more evidence that Allie Brosh and I might be the same person? See: the squirrel note. And the entry a little while toward-the-present from here about the arbitrary conditions that allow her to "win." And the raptor hands. And... There are a lot of things. But, you know, whatever.

My sister's Government textbook refers to NARAL (the National Abortion Rights Action League) as a "pro-abortion group." Hm, I wonder if they might have a tiny amount of political bias? There is a huge difference between being pro-choice and being pro-abortion, just like there is a huge difference between being pro-life and anti-choice. However, there is not a huge difference between describing someone as "pro-abortion" and incriminating yourself as anti-choice.
No one (who makes the rules, anyway) thinks abortion is just a happy fun time thing that should be your first thought when you find out you're pregnant, but that doesn't mean the option shouldn't be on the table. I know that I would never counsel a friend to have an abortion (unless her health or, in some cases, financial stability/independence were at risk), but if she wanted me to go with her to the clinic, I would do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Abortion should be a traumatic experience for everyone involved--that fetus could have become your child--but that doesn't mean it should be stigmatized.

Oh, wait, I believe I'm preaching to the choir there. Whoopsie, sorry about that.

You remember my paper that I apologized for? The professor apparently graded it over the weekend and I got it back last night:

Excellent paper (1030) words, clearly presented, arranged, argued, efficient. A key point. My only disagreement is with your last sentence -- that HH relinquishes control over Lolita and her life only AFTER killing Quilty, I would argue that he relinquishes control BEFORE killing Quilty--when he returns to Ramsdale and puts all her affairs in order, in effect, writing himself out of her life. At that point he can move on to kill Quilty (and himself).
Certainly he knew that his ultimate fate was to lose her--loving a nymphet guarantees a short love
I enjoyed your paper very much. 100+

NO BULLSHIT. Evidence:

I am very glad that 1) loves me; and 2) has low standards.

I had a good time with my family over the weekend. My brother and I got my sister to eat sushi, even if she only had two pieces (one piece of a roll with tuna and panko and spice powder and half a piece of unagi) before she claimed that eating any more would make her literally throw up. She's kind of a pussy.

Now I have to do super-quick laundry and sign up for classes!

TODAY I AM AT HOME.

Today I lost a big amount of post, which I had written.

To summarize: fuck my novel, fuck this girl I knew in middle school, fuck VCU (but not really), fuck everything.

Apparently my mother's friend's husband accidentally woodchipped the end of his useful (i.e. index) finger off. And "it's very painful." Shockingly enough.

Hunter's all upset/frustrated/wishing it were not the case that I am at home, leaving him all alone to seethe while playing Final Fantasy while the dumb kids laugh drunkenly in the other room. He's convinced that they're so much more annoying than usual, but I think he's just lonely. He doesn't like that he would have to be drinking to have fun tonight, although I keep suggesting that maybe he could have fun if he just went over, but he's gotten himself too incensed to give it a fair chance. I mean, it makes sense. He's pretty much been left out of everything all weekend, and it's not like people don't know that he can't join in with drinking (I mean, not "can't," except in principles), and... Whatever. My point is that he's justified in being annoyed at being ignored all the time.

I've never been drunk. I've never had drinking friends--well, that's not true. I've had plenty of friends who drink, who like to get drunk and who do so frequently. They've just never actually liked me enough to invite me drinking with them. I mean, I've never been popular, so I never went to those high school parties where you play beer pong ("only we ran out of beer, so then we started using vodka, I got sooo wasted") and get raped, but the nerds and other non-conformists have parties too, right? I know they do, because I've seen plenty of pictures on Facebook and read plenty of blog posts from my friends about parties that I wasn't invited to. I don't know if people think I'm immature, or if I'm just not fun to be around, or what the hell. But, yeah, so, I've never been drunk, which I guess makes me even less desirable as a person to invite to parties, on account of how I don't know how to drink. Although Kate didn't know how to drink and people still apparently wanted to get drunk with her. But Kate's better at groups than I am, so I guess that's just that. Whatever.

THERE ARE NO CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER WHICH NOW SHOULD BE BLOG TIME

The fact of the matter is, I have a lot of work to do today. I never did finish reading Lolita, and I didn't quite get to the correct number of words. So I should not AT ALL be writing in a blog instead of either reading Lolita, starting my essay, or finishing up my words for the day.

On the other hand, instead of reading, I'm SparkNoting, and the next page, cruelly, won't load. I took a brief break to beat a game of MineSweeper, but I got to the last corner and clicked a mine, so I can either play again or just go to IMDB this movie my brother just asked if I want to go see.

He asked, "Ever wanted to see a movie about a high schooler who's the reincarnation of Leon Trotsky, the Russian revolutionary who was exiled to Mexico, then killed with an ice pick?" I'm intrigued, but I'm also concerned that there might not be that much Trotsky action, on account of how this is just some kid who happens to be a reincarnation of the guy. I guess. I didn't read the whole summary.

Anyway, so, yeah, one more game of MineSweeper, then a more SparkNoting, then maybe getting the hell back on my NaNo horse. Molly just got out of the shower, and in an hour or so she's going to her job, i.e. a "date." I have to pretty her all up, and honestly, I don't know how to put makeup on a physical human being, so I'm a bit concerned that I'm not going to be able to put makeup on a textual human being. Whatever. It'll be okay.

GOGOGOGOGO