blog sprint

One Minute Writer from October 27th:

If you could have one talent that you don't naturally have, what would it be?

Oh so many...but if I have to choose one now, I'd say the gift of song. Where were my good fairies when I was born? I wonder what "gifts" they bestowed on me? The "gift of insomnia"? The "gift of anxiety"? The "gift of total stressballness"?

Yeah, I need to get some sleep. But first! I must finish reading for tomorrow.

[I couldn't end this month with 92 posts. I needed an odd number. I've been thinking a lot about post numbers lately. The gifts of obsession and compulsion?]

argh!

I have a question: how did I ever get into grad school in the first place? What is up with all of these stupid applications? Why do I have to apply twice at every place? Can't they make this easier? I feel like this is never going to happen.

I am frustrated.

Also, it's a good thing I'm not some sort of math/engineering/ecc major, because that was not "a" question.

variations on a theme

Cardo has been working a lot more nights lately, so I've been making dinner for just Pic and myself. I've been a bit beyond tired this semester so I'm always looking to make something simple and quick.

I've been into the angelhair lately because we have it. So, on Thanksgiving, we made capellini con pomodori e formaggio (ha!...it's just angelhair with tomatoes and cheese). I cooked the pasta ("noodles" to Pic), drained it, added olive oil and diced tomato and covered it all with parmesan. Tonight, we had basically the same thing, just with peas instead of tomatoes.

What else? On Thursday, Pic and I had yogurt banana splits for lunch. We had banana yogurt topped with sliced strawberries and granola. This was all on top of sliced banana, of course.



Sorry that the pictures are so incredibly crappily blurry.

hmm...

I haven't quite worked out what I want to say here today. So, why am I even here? I'm working it out.

I'm not the type of person who can open her mouth and spew forth brilliance (or anything with any kind of luster, actually). I take a long time to process and I like to think through composing. I either compose on paper, on the screen or in my head. I often wonder how much of a problem this is going to be for me as I advance in my field, but I'll just have to deal, right? Right.

Although I sometimes focus too much on how many comments I get (or don't) and how dismally low my reader count thing is, I still enjoy blogging. I came into it cautiously back in 2005, after Poke explained to me that, "It's like a journal online. It stands for 'web log.'" I thought the concept was interesting, but a bit weird. I made mention, in my first blog post on my Other blog, in my annoying not-quite-letting-anyone-else-in-on-my-train-of-thought way that the voyeurism is strange. Blogging is so narcissistic and exhibitionist, but I think about these attributes less and less. (I also dislike that these -- narcissism and exhibitionism -- are such negative-sounding traits, but I'm not going to stop and try to find some happy words with which to replace these.) Sometimes I think, "Geez-a-wheeze [as Pic says], I talk about "I" a lot." But, well, what/who else am I going to discuss. I only know me and I don't claim to know me all that well.

Reading others' blogs has been a great way to feel that I'm still connected to people who I don't otherwise check in with all that often. I'm a strong advocate of everyone I know starting a blog...but for pretty selfish reasons. I want to be able to read them. I know that some of my friends aren't into the whole blogging thing and that my parents just aren't completely down with the whole blogging thing, but the blogosphere has been good for me. I still keep my own journal (seventeen years and counting*), but I also like to share some things with the blogosphere. And, I don't have to have anyone looking at me while I do my sharing. I'm not entirely comfortable with other people looking at me (or, actually, with me looking at me either).

This has been one of the hardest years I've ever had to survive and reading about others' tribulations** has helped me. I have yet to share all of my dark and twisty moments and experiences, but I hope to at some point. I feel badly, sometimes, that I don't share as much as I can, because the sense of thanks-be-that-I'm-not-the-only-one has been essential to me this year. Part of what I love about the very small section of the blogosphere that I'm plugged into is the sense of community. (Get ready for some cheese, sorry.) I honestly feel (hope?) that if I ever had the courage to approach some of the bloggers I regularly read, if I ever had the chance to meet them (hello, BlogHer '09), they'd be warm and accepting women (yeah, I still don't read any men regularly...at least not anyone fessing up to being male).

I'd like to eventually be part of a larger conversation,*** but for now, my little blog here is working just fine, I suppose. So, thank you readers and commenters for reading my drivel for all this time. Thus (pretty much) ends my somewhat sappy and disconnected freewrite.

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* What does one do with a lifetime's worth of journals when one comes to the end of one's life? (This "one" of whom I speak is me, of course.) Do I make a provision to have them burned with me? Can I do that? I sure as heckfire**** don't want them available for others to peruse, and judge, after I'm gone...although I will be gone, so I might not care that much.

** Wholesome or otherwise.

*** I've been in grad school for way too long.

**** I've seen Groundhog Day a ridiculous number of times.

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I couldn't embed this video ("embedding disabled by request"), but Toby Keith's "Wanna Talk about Me" is running through my head right now.

88

I noticed that my last post was number eighty-eight for the month and it made me think of this song.



For dinner tonight, Pic and I had strawberries and cereal with fat-free half-and-half. Our milk was starting to smell somewhat nasty, so I had to pour that out. It was either the half-and-half or heavy whipping cream.

stuff and things

Okay, so I'm running out of steam here. It's a good thing that tomorrow ends NaBloPoMo. It was fun while it lasted, but I'm ready for a bit of a break. However...

One Minute Writer from 11/12:

If you had the opportunity to write as a career, what would you write?

Blogs. Okay, so less than a minute, I know. I also know that I was just whining about this writing every day thing, but really. I'd be able to read so many more blogs and they often give me inspiration to write. I'd just have to develop a tougher skin because of the possibility of blog trolls.

So, anyhow, my title is "stuff and things." There's more random stuff.

Pic and I started our day with some Pilates. As we practiced on the floor, the covert cats circled us, attempting to lay under our heads and legs. I don't know what it is about our exercising bodies that says to them, "Hey, come on over. How about you get comfortable right where I'm about to rest? Then I can squish you and you can bite me. Sound good?"

After we finished our morning workout (something that extremely rarely happens), we picked up a bit and sang along with Joan Sebastian. Now you can too.



[Okay, so this is Cardo's and my song...not what Pic and I were singing this morning, but same guy.]

I also got to talk to Poke for a good long while today. That was good and I needed it. I still have this fantasy that we'll end up living near one another so that we can see each other's kids grow up.

blog sprint

One Minute Writer for today:

As a kid, what job did you dream you'd have as an adult? What job do you have now?

Okay, so...yeah.

Teacher
Hell's Angel
Opera Singer
Truck Driver
Country Singer
Cooking Show Host

No, I can't sing. Also, I'm a wreck in the kitchen. And, lots of driving (in unfamiliar places, places where other drivers are jerks, places that are busy...kind of any in-city driving) makes me anxious as all get-out.

Teacher kind of stuck throughout. My mom says that when I was three, I told her I wanted to be a teacher.

Check my occupation on my profile...I sell couch insurance (and I have a low-level thing for John Cusack).