Monday, January 31, 2005
In ancient technology I raised my hand to ask for the date when a Roman soldier murdered Archimedes. Afterward, Eric accosted me in the hall- 'How could you ask that? You should have remembered from the Rome class!' I granted him a quizzical look before responding that I hadn't taken the world of Rome class, but had I taken the world of Rome class, the date of Archimedes' death would surely have been committed to memory, as 776 BC and 44 BC are. Eric apologized half-heartedly.
In German when Eike asked, 'Wann hast du Geburtstag?' and Eric stared back vacuously, I teased him. But we were both ecstatic when Eike introduced some basic concepts of German grammar. Conjugations are more beautiful than a sunset.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:43 PM]
This Is Not What I Ordered
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Someone I work with lived in Katy- he went to Stinko Ranch. I had at first guessed Mayde Creek, but he hung his head in shame, and I just knew... 'Wow!' exclaimed I, 'You must have been the only black person there!' He laughed and gave affirmation. I forgot his name, but I already enjoy his company quite a bit, as well as Kimmie's, Andres', and two other guys- Phillip and Javier. Javier reminds me of an older, Hispanic version of my little brother, Eddie Bob. Phillip and Kimmie are energetic little space cadets. Andres is more mellow.
In addition to work people and a few people in my classes, I play on occasion with Rebekah's roommates (Anne and Jenn) and her former floormate, Karissa. Then another circle loosely affiliated with Rebekah's is The Food Buddies- a small group of semi-sporty guys I eat lunch and dinner with at the dining hall. Food provides the bond of friendship, for beyond that we have little in common. The Food Buddies consist of Alan; Paul, who is, of course, "cute"; Bryan (who arrives for everything half-asleep, which Alan always notes with some amusement and finds adorable in a non-homosexual sense); and Thomas, an architect major with whom I converse deeply whilst consuming tuna and cheese. Thomas usually eats pizza and a sandwich.
Unfortunately, my Latin class consists of mostly bores, although I noted one girl there who also takes the terminology class. She might prove decent. German and Ancient Technology are the "fun" classes because most of the people enjoy them. Classics majors and minors take the technology course; I speak already with Eric and Becca (who both, as am I, are nominal members of the Classical Society), but most are upper-classmen I haven't met formally. When we begin class projects I'll get to know others better.
This semester I will be more active.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:08 AM]
Honey Mustard, Please
Saturday, January 29, 2005
My latest place of employment requires I attend an employee training seminar begining later this morning at ten o'clock. The nightmare ends three hours after noon. Kimmie (a girl I work with) told me to anticipate candy and a Housing and Hospitality Services t-shirt. Excited though I am at that prospect, sitting around for five hours whilst someone informs me about food sanitation and safety in the work environment seems tremendously wasteful, considering I only have one life.
After training I need to finish reading Monkey (which is less than one-fourth of a Chinese epic story) and create flash cards for der Deutsch Klasse. I compiled circa two hundred flashcards each for the terminology and Latin classes. Conjugating verbs and declining nouns worries me little, but the translation homework assignments require extensive review (which I must accomplish at some point Sunday). From eight o'clock tonight until two o'clock Sunday morning I work, then I agreed to cover Andres' eight a.m. to two p.m. shift. If, like a good egg, I complete my studies I shall consider walking to the music building for some concert sung in Latin.
People in varying states of consciousness stumbled into the minimart throughout the late evening/early morning. Many a red eye and half-open mouth saw I. People are putrid.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:29 AM]
That Good Night
Friday, January 28, 2005
The German teacher (to whom hereafter I shall refer as Eike), digging through a transparency folder, informed us we would be naming countries but noted the maps were slightly old. I called out, 'You mean we get to see Czechoslovakia?' and someone else said something about East and West Berlin. Smiling sheepishly Eike said, 'It's from 1993, so... yes.' Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia are countries; Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania are not. And one may always travel to the USSR. Das ist sehr gut, for I do not care to learn how to pronounce Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania auf Deutsch. The plural form denoting Italian persons presents enough problems: die Italienerin.
I sound uneducated no matter what language I speak.
I made flashcards for terminology class. Most bases and prefixes I know from Latin or common awareness already. In addition to the primary textbook is a secondary text for bioscientific terms: the names of diseases and such. Before the terminus of the semester I intend to find out precisely how many words the English language has for syphilis.
I (in the library) spy a girl with green 4-H fliers. I ought to accost her and beg for one. Schade, she vanished. Oh, well.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:28 AM]
I Belong In Lubbock... Ewww...
Thursday, January 27, 2005
I am boring. Sigh...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:23 AM]
They Really Like Me
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
The leading managers audited the minimart this afternoon. Before I became aware of their presence, I had squirreled around stocking this and that, grabbing food for people, fixing smoothies, et cetera in part on account of there being only myself to man the fort. The head store manager must have noticed as he gabbed with the big kahunas, for he commented in varying fashion throughout the day that I was working really hard. I know not what I did, precisely, but I impressed somebody.
I hope this means a raise impending.
Tomorrow after work I need to comprise a gigantic flashcard database with which to study etymological meanings for the bases and suffixes I have as yet not memorized for the Latin and Greek terminology class. The project will in all likelihood take an eternity.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:59 PM]
I Am Not A Cutter
Monday, January 24, 2005
My watch slashed several marks through my wrist at work a few nights ago.
My schedule is full:
MWF Latin/Greek Terminology 8-8:50 a.m.
MWF Ancient Technology 9-9:50 a.m.
MTWRF German Review 10:-10:50 a.m.
MTWRF Latin Review 12:-12:50 p.m.
MWF Intro to Fiction 1-1:50 p.m.
Work
TWR 2:00 p.m.- 8:00 p.m.
FSat 8:00 p.m.- 2:00 a.m.
This week I cover a shift for a boy, Andres, from 8:00 a.m.- 2:00 p.m. I work with decent, friendly people who aggravate my antisocial sensitivities only slightly. A girl named Kimmy admired that I am majoring in Latin, so I shall bring The Father's old college textbook for her to study. The book makes independent study quite facile.
I finally bought this morning the two textbooks I needed for the Latin and Greek terminology class. The last Fuddruckers paycheck did not deposit directly to my account- I had The Father retrieve and mail it, but only after I had written a couple of checks to pay for other textbooks and realized belatedly the situation. The balance numbers in my checking account turned red, which is doubleplusungood because the bank assesses an exhorbitant thirty-three dollar fee for every overdrawn transaction. Dadgummit.
But the books excite me, for they are new and slick. However, I must log off the computer in a moment in order that I may commence with the homework that has accumulated over the past two weeks. The instructor already assigned over a hundred prefixes and bases to memorize. Oi weh.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:58 PM]
The Age Of Reform
Sunday, January 23, 2005
I invited myself tomorrow to Rebekah's domicile for the purpose of cooking her dinner; she cooks for me once in a while. I think I shall also bring Scattergories and my deck of Mickey Mouse cards. I know how to party.
With some revision I discovered I could, indeed, continue Japanese courses beginning next spring. Das ist sehr gut. In between the courses for the Classics major Tech offers Latin, Greek, German, Italian, and Japanese at intervals stacked favourably. By graduation I ought to become proficient in Latin and German, well-versed in Japanese and Greek, and knowledgeable of basic Italian- enough to visit and buy things.
College provides enough resources that I may study other subjects (history, anthropology, business, the arts, et cetera) independently. Languages may only be absorbed through immersion. So this week that is what I have decided to do.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:45 PM]
Iguana Pelt = My Hands
Friday, January 21, 2005
The Latin instructor assigned a vocabulary quiz, which I mistook for a declension quiz. I declined approximately five nouns in the following fashion:
magisterI realized everyone else had finished, but I yet had four more nouns and a couple of verbs to decline. Aa soo... thought I, This is the vocabulary exam, which requires only the first two principal parts, the gender, and the meaning of each noun, plus the declension, gender, and the four principal parts of each verb. Scheisse. I wrote the final two words in the correct manner before handing in the sheet; the instructor drops the five most unfavorable quizzes, thus I worry not.
magistri
magistro
magistrum
magistro
magistri
magistrorum
magistris
magistros
magistris
In ancient technology class we viewed a Nova video about a group of people attempting to reconstruct theoretical methods by which Stonehenge was built. It involved many ropes, a British engineer, a British archaeologist, an American granite-worker, approximately one hundred amateur volunteers, and a yappy little dog. The American thought the engineer's methods too grandiose (they did involve constructing a giant wooden A-frame, as well as another trial using greased wooden planks set into the ground as tracks... to transport forty-ton stone blocks over twenty hilled and wooded miles). He complained, everyone else ignored him, and the cameras caught him playing with the dog whilst the manual laborers and the engineers performed their experiments.
As the workers hauled one of the blocks, a man stood on top of it, waving a yellow flag, jumping up-and-down, and screaming ecstatically. They probably slaughtered him afterward and buried him at the circle's epicenter.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:15 PM]
A Personality That Pays... Hopefully
Thursday, January 20, 2005
The mythology professor will endorse me with ready vigor. She found my e-mail request "hilarious", positively, and told me she was indeed glad I am part of the school's Classics program. She said my personality makes me a perfect graduate study candidate, which pleased my ears, as that is the current (this week's) plan.
Someone likes me.
A few nights ago I did aerobic stuff whilst Amy and Robert were gone. They are not in the room now, so I shall vacate the computer lab in order to take another miniscule step in my "I-am-ready-to-look-adorable" lifestyle plan.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:22 PM]
The Nutty Professor
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
My English professor finally discussed the book (arbitrarily entitled Monkey) today; he had been leading up to it by discussing eight stages in human psychological development for the past two lectures. Students had questions about the text, which is translated from ancient Chinese, but he opened the lecture to questions and will probably continue resolving them Friday. I felt I understood the primary concepts as I read, yet the novel being an allegory left me open to considerable doubt as to my interpretations, especially as I know little of ancient Chinese culture.
My hands reek of latex.
I will meet with the mythology professor tomorrow morning to provide an account of my wonderful self.
Study time.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:11 PM]
Schweaty Arms
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
I began working at the dorm complex minimart this evening. Most of my coworkers left little to be desired, and I coordinated well with them. The manager and crew supervisors seemed pleased.
Rebekah cooked a delightful dinner last night, but it bloated me. I am still recovering.
The week will be full, with work occurring immediately after my last class tomorrow and Thursday, then closing shifts (8:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m.) Friday and Saturday. Between that I must locate my mythology professor for her recommendation, plus write the accompanying scholarship essays.
Sleep time.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:32 PM]
If You Don't Mind Having To Go Without Things, It's A Fine Life
Monday, January 17, 2005
Before the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. became a reverend or a doctor, he had a little white friend whose mother eventually disallowed him from playing with the little non-reverend-non-doctor. I read that when I was little, and it saddened me, although I had no desire myself to make friends of any colour or shape.
I exhibited this morning some degree of amity with a girl and a fellow who, as did I, arrived at the dining hall early for to secure breakfast-vittles. We stood impatiently until the manager opened the door- she informed us the halls were on weekend (id est, later) hours due to the holiday. I believe if he had been around to observe the situation, the good reverend would have been outraged to know we three were kept waiting a half-hour on his account.
At any rate, I consumed a lovely breakfast in the company of new people (I forget their names). The girl arrived from New Jersey this semester, and the boy is a music education major. I informed them of the current campus scandal: the school suspended this semester its policy of allowing students to charge books and certain supplies to tuition. Barnes and Noble installed a campus bookstore a few years ago that, naturally, took some business from the two private bookstores located on the street parallel to the school. The two private owners threatened to sue the university on the grounds it violated some obscure law code, withdrawing the suit only if the university ceased allowing students to bill books to tuition. In order to avoid ugliness, the university did suspend its policy, although it apparently (according to the campus newspaper) did not break any law.
The loans The Father and I took out this semester left plenty of balance to account for the books I need, but I instead used every cent I earned over the holiday to pay for books. I hope the private store owners develop gangrene.
The good reverend would be furious.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:02 AM]
How Wonderful Am I
Sunday, January 16, 2005
The School of Arts and Sciences scholarship applications require faculty recommendations, about which I am slightly apprehensive requesting as I have only been here a semester. The mythology professor would likely write something, for she had a sizable class from which I stood out somewhat (laughing, usually). I spoke with her at her office a few times and helped the department during its hosting of high school Latin kids (oi weh...). During the other Classics course (ancient sports) I involved myself less and did not converse much with that instructor, although she also sponsors the Classical Society of which I am a nominal member.
Thus I might secure outside recommendations from a couple of my previous employers and from the community college Advertising Club sponsor, who absolutely adored me (naturally enough). The community college alumni association sends occasional e-mails and such- I genuinely enjoyed attending school there because the faculty seemed committed to educational involvement. The professors I had were as competent as the instructors I've encountered at Tech, but due to the smaller scale they interacted in the classroom more personally. I spoke with my microeconomics professor, of all people, outside of class several times. The head of the communications department taught my persuasion class, an entry-level course that doesn't cover the communications requirement in Texas (it would have in Missouri). He was personable and I learned a bit from the class.
Whelp, enough cheerleading. I am going to either a) continue reviewing online classics resources or b) finish reading Kafka stories for my English class.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:43 PM]
You Have Much To Learn
Saturday, January 15, 2005
"Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son."
Unless Rebekah finds me, I am going to eat dinner and go to bed.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:04 PM]
Ich bin im Stress
Friday, January 14, 2005
The German instructor took the class this morning to the language learning laboratory, where we participated in mock phone conversations. The girl I spoke with (we could not see each other) had a sexy, radio voice. I hope we meet someday.
The Classics major in that class pointedly sat beside me, which left me greatly relieved because it meant I did not have to make it a point to sit next to him. I intend to develop a study-buddy relationship, for he professed minimal knowledge of German, but he has already taken the Greek and Latin courses. As a bonus, he does not appear socially constrained.
I printed a few departmental scholarship applications. Tomorrow after I sleep (id est, when I arise), I shall strategize further money-securing enterprises. I would conduct said research presently, but the week burned me out. Healthy nineteen year-olds require more sleep than I achieved the past three evenings.
After rejection from the Government Documents department at the library (the lady liked me, but she liked two other people more), I applied for employment with the minimart at the dormitory complex next to mine, with more success. Next week I am scheduled for thirty hours. Das ist ausgezeichnet. At most, with plasma donations, I expect to earn three thousand dollars this semester. The city buses stop running at 8:00 p.m., or I would seek a higher-paying job off-campus.
I spend an inordinate time plotting and stressing. Perhaps a baseball game or two will make for suitable diversion, but those do not begin for a few more weeks. Thus, as April suggested, I shall bury myself in schoolwork.
On that note, in an effort at achieving schedule simplification, I dropped the anthropology courses and replaced them with Latin and Greek Terminology and Public Speaking. If I feel I desperately need archaeological background, I'll audit those courses later.
Oh, my head...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:14 PM]
Class Descriptions
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Introduction to Archaeology:
Half the class failed to make an appearance, which I found slightly odd. With all the absentees counted the class holds about twenty-five people. The instructor, a thin-boned, furtive type, nevertheless seems competent. She probably spends more time digging in the dirt than talking to people, but I prefer learning from someone who currently works in the field with the most recent technological methods. This past summer she worked on a site in Alaska, analyzing mostly vegetative finds for clues about ancient Native American habitats. She emphasizes American, African, and Asian cultures and says she glosses over ancient Greek, Roman, and Egyptian, which disappoints me but is understandable. She did mention another course covers my specialization; I may take it during a future semester. And, of course, I am still interested in the other cultures. Bring on the Pueblo!
Comprehensive German Review:
The instructor is a native speaker who is working on a graduate degree in history. His name is "Eike", which I have never heard before; I thought all German males were named "Gunther", "Dieter", or "Helmut". I enjoyed his moderately deep voice and accent. Guten Morgen, indeed. Another Classics major happens to be taking the class as well; his father was stationed for a time in Germany. I will sit next to him and make him be my friend.
Cultural Anthropology:
I arrived to the room late because I thought it was in the lecture hall of the biology building. Sitting in the front row across from me I noticed a friend from my floor; recognizing anyone makes me ecstatic. The instructor speaks rapidly and assured us she would release us early over the course of the semester. Das ist sehr gut, ja. The class, from her description, sounds more basic than I might like, but it will be at least broad.
Comprehensive Latin Review:
My classical mythology professor assured me this instructor is "very nice", but he also seems very dry- I equate him to William Balch. Looking around the room I observed a girl from my logic class last semester- I never spoke to her, but she seemed intelligent, if somewhat shy. From my involvement with the Tech Classical Society I also discerned another, more eccentric Classics major. Of the approximate twenty-five Classics majors, two-thirds I classify as "kinda creepy" people- they're dispurposefully odd. I consider myself an "artful" oddball. That means I am cooler than everyone.
Introduction To Fiction:
I entered apprehensive this class would bore me, but I am quite relieved, for the professor is an old, lanky nutcase. He obviously considers his lectures theatrical performances. He screamed at least twice, clutched at his head, fell to the floor, and spun around in his chair, all on the first day. Most people couldn't avoid laughing. I love writing papers, but am nevertheless grateful he only assigns two; I'll spend enough time studying, especially Latin and German.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:20 PM]
I Would Rather Menstruate
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
so, christmas eve was family christmas here, you know, just the 10 of us. turkey dinner, opening presents by a roaring fire, snowball fight. it was all good. my step-sister that refuses to stay in this house even showed up. and that was actually kinda cool.-my stepbrother's LiveJournal thingy the day after Christmas
If he can play nice and I can play nice for two or three hours, why does being nice not come as easily to our respective parents?
After some internal debate I phoned The Father last night to inform him I had arrived in Lubbock and bought a couple of my books (they are exciting). Then I told him I would appreciate his calling me once a month or at least a couple of times a semester. When I asked, 'Can you do that?' he replied, 'I don't know- we'll see.'
What is his problem? I thought, At Christmas he played along as though everything was fine. He told me as much when I mentioned Terri seemed stand-offish. He eventually released this news: 'You promised you would apologize to someone.' Here I flipped completely- we had had a conversation the week before Christmas during which I mentioned I thought I should sit down with Terri to have a discussion about our little relationship problems. I might have said I would apologize to her for our misunderstandings, but that would have been self-initiated- it certainly would not have been because he told me I should apologize. But The Father pretended we had some sort of understanding that I broke, and when I directly accused him of dishonesty he hung up on me. I called back and my brother answered the phone.
The Father intended to avoid contacting me again this semester because of a minor misunderstanding that he would never have told me about had I not called him. I never did have any conversation with Terri, because her behavior Christmas Eve signaled she wasn't ready to face me. From Lubbock I was going to send her a sincere letter, apologizing especially for the times I attacked Jeremy and also explaining some of my reasoning for other incidents, but The Father decided to act sophomorically. If he wants to be silly, then I suppose I will leave him to that choice.
During that conversation the week before Christmas, The Father made a completely off-base point:
Your mother was a bad mother.My jaw dropped five feet and I looked at him fully expecting him to recant; I thought perhaps he meant she had made some bad decisions, so I waited, then I said, 'No, you don't mean that,' and he actually repeated the statement! As though I ought to agree with him!
As if making that incredibly disrespectful remark was not enough, he dug himself deeper by adding, 'Why else do you think Michael has all these problems?' The Father actually blamed my mother for Michael being... Michael. Anyone with any dose of common sense understands disabilities are no one's "fault"; my mother coddled Michael partly because The Father wouldn't have shown him any sort of affection! When I was little I wet the bed chronically, and The Father told me several times I was doing it purposefully. What sort of parent does that make him? The fact that she babied him, in retrospect, surprises me not one bit, and it certainly doesn't amount to classify her as a bad parent- after all, she could have drowned him in the bathtub out of "mercy". Besides, she died when Michael was ten, and now Michael is nearly eighteen. Who has had direct parental influence during that period, I wonder?
My mother spent months with Ashlea practicing pronunciation and definition of words so that Ashlea became Spelling Bee Champion every year during grade school. She taught Ashlea to read before entering kindergarten and me to write my name and recognize words (I was, still, Child Number Two). She made us stand for pictures every year on the first day of school. She insisted each of her children take at least one year of piano lessons, without "forcing" any of us- we all understood she meant to enrich our lives, even Michael, who was the only one who didn't "take" to the piano. She praised us when we made good grades and hounded me relentlessly every time I brought home those dadgum discipline report cards with a mark for "talking during class". She sang to me and my siblings and she read to us. Every Christmas Eve my mother read Eloise at Christmastime (which April knows about; hence she bought the movie version as a gift this year). Of course she was far from perfect, but she did not approach "bad" in any conceptualization.
Sigh...
I applied yesterday to work at the convenience mart next to my dorm. The manager had an interview with another bright prospect, so I left my references and am awaiting a phone call. The girl who took my application mentioned they needed closers and weekend people, which I am more than willing to do. If I receive no further word I'll visit other locations tomorrow after classes.
Tomorrow is my first day of school, and it is fortunate I have no one around to take my picture.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:20 AM]
Frabbits
Monday, January 10, 2005
I went with Jessica Harwood and a friend of hers to watch Kinsey the night before Rebekah and I left. The film was decent, but did not delve deeply into many subjects it could have pursued further. But as there were many diversions I understand I must research them myself if that neglect irritates me enough- a movie about one man's work can only run so long. I enjoyed the time with Jessica, who I hadn't seen since we graduated high school.
Rebekah picked me up from The House of April around 8:30 yesterday morning. April was on her bed scratching furiously at hives the last time I saw her- an appropriate and hilarious image. During the trip we ate breakfast at McDonald's, lunch at Subway, and drank a tremendous volume. Last night I woke up almost every hour to urinate. We arrived at my dorm around 5:40, I unpacked crap, and then I fell asleep (interrupted by peeing).
Today I woke up. That is all I have done and all I intend to do. Tomorrow I will apply for jobs and possibly donate plasma (I might wait until next week).
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:09 AM]
Instead Of Sheep
Friday, January 07, 2005
Sarah, Jamesy Rooh-Bear, Donna, April, and I traveled a mile or two to an earlybird showing of White Noise, which proved fantastically disappointing. Keaton and the lead actress performed acceptably, but the film lacked plot. The film left the story unresolved and inconclusive- one of those "we might as well stop at this point" endings. The screenwriter(s) for Lemony Snickets did the same. Those being the only two movies I viewed this break lead me to conclude people cannot write. I already know people cannot speak.
Once again for the impending semester I set lofty goals that I will probably fail to achieve.
FitterSpecifically I would like to lose weight- I dropped ten pounds during the fall, but I gained everything back over the break. Schoolwise, of course, I ought to make straight "A"s, which I foresee will be problematic only if I play hooky and neglect studying.
Happier
More productive
I need a better job and to save that money for next fall and summer tuition (if I take summer school, which is a serious consideration depending on the job situation). A girl who lives down the hall from me is in the main volunteer organization on campus, which I considered joining last semester before the work schedule threw off the plan. Now I can join and I'll have a little buddy.
Tomorrow I must be a busy bee, for I leave Sunday with Rebekah.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:17 PM]
Super Tsunami
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
After examining the grey hairs on Peter Jennings' head this evening I contemplated the one grey hair on mine. It sprouts from the left side and back about one-point-five inches at temple level. No one ever sees this testament to my sagacity unless I plow around and find it to show off. I covet grey streaks, such as Beth Atteberry's or Mrs. Peters', but instead this lone hair gives me little to be dramatic about- how much stress does one have if one only has one grey hair? It provides little material on which I can base a solid rant.
Some bodily scars I appreciate more than others. For instance, at my hips and the tops of my legs lie stretch marks from the weight I gained during and after high school- these are no bueno. Above the heels at the back of both legs are humongous gashes from shaving of which I am not particularly fond, either- people who see my ankles must think me either a cutter or severely handicapped.
The scars across my hands give them a distinctive character: a bungling character. When I was eight The Father bought a soccer ball. When the family kicked it around the back yard for the first time it got stuck in the dirt/clay hole under our turtle sandbox. Not being foot-coordinated I stooped with my hand to pry the ball loose, and as The Father reached in with his bare foot he scraped a hole in my finger with his talons. That is a "sticky-outie' scar.
The first time it snowed in Missouri last year I slipped on the ice in my aunt and uncle's driveway as I walked out to the Buick for work one morning. Three or four abrasive marks to my right thumb at the bottom knuckle attest to the experience, which my aunt said later she would have laughed at had she been there to see it. She also laughed when I told her about the gash between my first and second knuckles I received one afternoon as I uncapped the Buick's gas tank. That car was feisty. I was too nervous ever to check its oil.
The Fuddruckers scars are my favourites, though- the giant burn, the line burn (from a hot bun pan), and the hole. The razor sharp shake machine poked a hole in the side of my arm as I cleaned the mixer the week before I stopped working last summer. Next to it a mosquito bite I scratched furiously left a permanent impression as well; the two together look like a love mark from a blind vampire.
The Megabitch clawed my left hand during a domestic altercation when we were twelve and ten. Michael dug flesh out of my left forearm on exactly three separate occasions. I was abused by my own siblings. When I threw things at them, I never left any permanent marks (possibly because my launchings rarely reached their intended target). Now I walk around campus internally yearning for someone to challenge me to a knife fight- a slash mark across my cheek would look fantastically mysterious, like James' lightning-bolt.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:41 PM]
Maus
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
After tomorrow I shall no longer return from a job in which shake syrup congeals into my arm hairs. My managers assured me I am again welcome this summer, which is security that I am nevertheless reluctant to take advantage of. Asking people how they want their burgers cooked and if they would like side orders of fries or onion rings becomes monotonous after a half hour. But oh, well- money is money. A position at the Lubbock Fuddruckers would be convenient; I am applying there again this semester.
The school loans disbursed themselves last night- how abstract a process. I refer to the debit card I carry as a "magic swipey" because it pays for things, but no one sees the greenbacks.
April bought the film Troy, watched it, and was thoroughly disappointed. Characters became different characters, minor plots changed, and the Greeks didn't throw Hector's baby from the wall! Menelaus and Agamemnon died. How was Clytemnestra supposed to ax Agamemnon to death after his return from Troy if he never returned from Troy? I refuse to view this film.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:52 PM]
Winnie The Pooh
Monday, January 03, 2005
I spent much time at work this season and not much time with compatriots, but the neglect of my friends was necessary. When I finally gain independent wealth, I intend to have lots of fun... maybe. If I enjoy it, I shall quit. If I acquire a decent job this semester and work like a little fiend, I might splurge on a canoe or lake trip with Rebekah and our mutual Tech friends (I categorize my friends as I categorize everything else). That might be... fun.
After settling into the semester I need to finalize plans for transfer to "ooh-tah". I might decide to remain in Lubbock, but I do not think I will- it probably will not be worth living there four more years.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:49 PM]