Most of my day I've spent sleeping. I do not entirely know why. I'm sure somehow this is my body's very odd way of attempting to make up for the missed sleep I got this weekend. My body knows full well that said sleep can not actually be made up. So, with that in mind, I think maybe my body is trying to fuck me over. Well, I've got news for you body . . . I'm not gonna take it! I'll sleep when I want to and wake up when I want to and you can't make me do or say anything! My mind is much more powerful than you and you ought to know it, you frail, weak peice of flesh!
Monday, February 23, 2004
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
If I Were a Grand Slam . . . (sung to the tune of "If I Were a Rich Man," just in case that didn't immediately pop into your head like it should have)
Spent the past two weeks doing so much work regarding last Friday's V-Day Extravaganza and this weekend's upcoming production of The Vagina Monologues that I hardly had time to sleep or breathe or any other such vital function. And then this weekend happened. And despite rehearsal from forever until the end of time on Sunday night . . . I suddenly had only time to sleep and breathe.
I don't think I'd ever been so bored in my life. Last night, I literally spent a half hour staring at objects in my roommate's possession. I was awake then, and I couldn't actually bring myself to sleep. (Funny how "after you get what you want you don't want it," isn't it? Who knew Irving Berlin songs could be so prophetic.) I could call this relaxing, I suppose. But relaxing is a term I generally reserve for reading in a hot bath or sitting in a spa or visiting the masseuse I don't actually have. Relaxing is not resorting to asking your roommates such questions as: "If you were a menu item at Denny's, what would you be?"
And just FYI, Jen is Cheesesticks, Heather is French Toast and I am a Milkshake. Raffi, when later asked this question, supplied me with the Denny's menu item in the title.
I don't think I'd ever been so bored in my life. Last night, I literally spent a half hour staring at objects in my roommate's possession. I was awake then, and I couldn't actually bring myself to sleep. (Funny how "after you get what you want you don't want it," isn't it? Who knew Irving Berlin songs could be so prophetic.) I could call this relaxing, I suppose. But relaxing is a term I generally reserve for reading in a hot bath or sitting in a spa or visiting the masseuse I don't actually have. Relaxing is not resorting to asking your roommates such questions as: "If you were a menu item at Denny's, what would you be?"
And just FYI, Jen is Cheesesticks, Heather is French Toast and I am a Milkshake. Raffi, when later asked this question, supplied me with the Denny's menu item in the title.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
Sloth Isn't That Much of a Sin . . . Is It?
Kate said that her only desire once she got to college was to sleep. Judging by the state of my room and the moment, I think it just might be true.
Last night, I was up talking with Kevin and Jen until 2:30 am. At which point, they left and I went to sleep. I have no idea what happened until about 9 am, when Jen's alarm went off and I roll over to find the two of them curled up in opposite corners of the futon . . . which Kevin had somehow taken down in the middle of the morning without rousting me. I went back to sleep until noon.
Right now, Kevin is sprawled out on my bed--aka "the couch"--napping under the glow of a halogen lamp. Jennifer has crawled up to her roost for ten minutes of mid-midterm studying naptime. And those sleepy motherfuckers are making me tired as hell. I yawn just knowing that they are here! Here and tired!
Kevin's sloth-like nature must be rubbing off on me. He has decreased my desire to do any sort of work merely by being in the same room. I want him to see Sevenfor the sloth-murder, but at the same time I admire his dedication to laziness and wish he were a sort of superhero. If he were indeed a superhero, he would be the patron and savior of college students everywhere.
Last night, I was up talking with Kevin and Jen until 2:30 am. At which point, they left and I went to sleep. I have no idea what happened until about 9 am, when Jen's alarm went off and I roll over to find the two of them curled up in opposite corners of the futon . . . which Kevin had somehow taken down in the middle of the morning without rousting me. I went back to sleep until noon.
Right now, Kevin is sprawled out on my bed--aka "the couch"--napping under the glow of a halogen lamp. Jennifer has crawled up to her roost for ten minutes of mid-midterm studying naptime. And those sleepy motherfuckers are making me tired as hell. I yawn just knowing that they are here! Here and tired!
Kevin's sloth-like nature must be rubbing off on me. He has decreased my desire to do any sort of work merely by being in the same room. I want him to see Sevenfor the sloth-murder, but at the same time I admire his dedication to laziness and wish he were a sort of superhero. If he were indeed a superhero, he would be the patron and savior of college students everywhere.
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