Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
Friday morning I'm going to take my first test since the Algebra Test. But the Algebra Test was pass/fail, and this one *counts*. Eep.
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(1)
02:50:20 AM,Friday 31 May 2002
My head is empty. My belly is full.
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(4)
12:03:18 AM,Thursday 30 May 2002
*thump* *thump* *thump*
I wish I worked in Vaudeville.
I wish I was buried up to my neck in soft dirt.
I wish I had a fried egg sandwich.
I wish I could rearrange years, months, and decades.
I wish... naw, I don't wish. Things are as they oughtta be.
I'm grateful, and then some.
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11:33:48 PM,Wednesday 29 May 2002
Can I offer up a benediction to the heavens, or do I have to come back tomorrow?
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11:31:23 PM,Wednesday 29 May 2002
The pattern of bedsprings.
The slattern of Red Springs.
The bittern of sled rings.
The spit curl of Pembroke.
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(1)
11:30:35 PM,Wednesday 29 May 2002
Sitting. It's early evening. Ariodante's playing -- some sweet bass is singing something sad. I don't know the plot so well yet, 'cause I ain't looked it up past the first act. Eating microwaved spaghetti with my jew's harp, reading about molecules with no shirt on. Life's pretty damn groovy.
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(4)
07:05:05 PM,Wednesday 29 May 2002
I can't sleep. I can't bloody sleep. I've been lying in bed for hours and hours, listening to five complete chapters of Harry Potter, and I still feel fresh as a daisy. That ain't gonna be true for my 8:00am to 11:50am chemistry class, though. Argh! I got this little plastic cup full of green slime from Sara as a graduation present, and I've been absently twisting it between my toes while trying to kick off into dreamland. It slowly shriveled and dried up and lost all its lovely viscosity, and now it's just a knobbly little lump of nastiness. I can feel my brain going through exactly the same process. I think it's time for Unca Mira's Patented Miracle Insomnia Water and Marmite Cure, in which I lie in bed with a bottle of water and a jar of marmite and consume them both until I'm stupefied and swollen-tongued and don't care about sleep one way or another. Sleep be damned! Yeah. Oy vey.
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(8)
05:34:12 AM,Wednesday 29 May 2002
Ye Gods.
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(1)
06:42:03 AM,Tuesday 28 May 2002
Higgledy Piggledy
Internet Ribaldry --
Frighfully Maddening;
Leads to Despair.
If I could only be
Albuquerqueeable --
Awf'lly Agreeable.
Wish I was there.
{sigh}
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(3)
01:23:16 AM,Tuesday 28 May 2002
Light, a blue carpet, one crack of thunder (no more), bunk beds and bureaus made of wood, a roommate (maybe), an empty gullet, a favor, a wild goose chase, a song about cigarettes, a network connection, a telephone, an unpacked assortment, a quiet tenseness; an anticipation.
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10:35:18 PM,Monday 27 May 2002
The mysterious East.
Bugging out.
The first leg.
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(3)
04:39:42 AM,Monday 27 May 2002
I have a polaroid of the Weigle belltower after Reality made an ass of it.
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(4)
06:39:20 PM,Sunday 26 May 2002
Hellfire and Damnation! Blast blast blast blast blast! Grrrrr! I need a Lear Jet, curse it all to the sulphurous mires. Frig!
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(2)
03:36:17 AM,Sunday 26 May 2002
There's this 18 year old kid here at Miscon, and he wrote a book. It's a fantasy book, and I heard a few excerpts from it. Stylistically, it seems awright, but I'm not sure yet that it's really unique among fantasy novels. I haven't read it, of course. I might. (I think the main thing is I can't get myself too excited about dragons. Personal prejudice.) The kid himself, though, is really charming, enthusiastic, and sweet, and he spent three years writing the thing, so I figured it was only just to link to his blog.
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09:39:27 PM,Saturday 25 May 2002
At Miscon, with a coconut. All is well.
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(3)
06:08:20 AM,Saturday 25 May 2002
I can hear doves cooing. I assume they must be on the roof, but it sounds like anything as if they're in the wastepaper basket.
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(1)
03:22:44 PM,Friday 24 May 2002
I suppose it's about time I blogged about the State of Things.
As Ariadne knows but has been too discreet to mention and guffaw at, I missed my graduation. All but the last ten minutes or so. NOBODY WOKE ME UP! I went to bed, but I had already packed my alarm clock, and I thought that my parents would come by early to pay their respects before the big hoopla. But they didn't. Several minutes after noon (it started at eleven), my brother barged into my bare room yelling. I leaped nekkid as the Sheik of Araby into cap, gown, and sandals, and ran headlong down. The first name I heard was "Tim Sparkman, Memphis Tennessee". I felt like... uhh... well, I was barely conscious, but let it be understatedly said that I felt like a dingbat. And then some. God almighty. I got sheepishly in the back of the line and wound up getting my hood and scroll after all the rest of them had gotten theirs. Oy vey. I missed John Barth, too, which sucks, and almost gave my mom a heart attack when she and the brood of people she drug down there for my sake heard "Mirabai Knight, unable to attend." She thought I'd been arrested, or gotten the plague or something.
Speaking of the plague, I'm reading a very trashy horror novel about it and rats and New York and sexy epidemiologists right now. It feels good. I'm also reading Joan of Arc, by Mark Twain. My brother gave it to me as a graduation present. It's interesting -- quite unlike anything else of his. My other brother gave me a silver pocket watch, which is heavy and hypnotic. I love it. The two muvvafugginest cool things I got, though, were from my mom's insanely generous friends: An all-expense-paid weekend in New York City (hopefully without the plague though I wouldn't say no to either the rats or the sexy epidemiologists) including a night at the Met! Woo! I think I'm gonna see Ariadne Auf Naxos, though I might see Nabucco or Die Meistersinger instead. Dunno.
And also an enormous gift certificate to the Washington Opera which I previously drooled and gibbered over. Freaking thrilled, dude. (`8 Yeeeehaw!
Then we drove back home. Spent two nights in Utah. I bought a hip flask. Cassie said when she buys her hip flask she's gonna engrave a stanza from the Rubaiyat on it, so I figured I might as well engrave a line from my favorite poem on mine: "For he on honeydew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise". The other nice thing about it is that it's like those water bottles for gerbil cages; if you just slant it toward your mouth, nothing'll come out. You have to dab your tongue at the meniscus. Lap, lap, lap. Ahhhh.
I get to go to Miscon this weekend for the first time in bloody ages! Glee! Bought my coconut and everything, and my hair is making its agonizing way through duckfluff to maestro to Tom Baker, so the scarf is definitely in order. I gotta finish packing for Monday, though, and I still ain't done with my ma's manuscript, which is currently 598 blinking pages long. She has these mutant double tulips in a vase in this room, and they're freaking me out. They remind me of the Driesch experiment when, if you use your blunted scalpel just so, you get two little frogspawnlings joined at the nostrils. {shudder}
I'm happy and sad. I sort of feel like I've been disenabled two years too late, with the same kind of bitterness and disappointment that comes with the regular version. But I wanna be a real human being instead of a sponging drifter. So I'm glad I'm about to get whupped around. Still... oy. I'm grateful for the blogmass.
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(7)
03:21:08 AM,Friday 24 May 2002
"Don't you put the stickboy in my manuscript!"
-- My mother, afraid that my simultaneous editing in Word and blogging in IE will cross-contaminate each other.
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11:12:14 PM,Thursday 23 May 2002
