Kat’s Pause 

Linguistics assignment is due tomorrow and I’m tired from giving blood earlier today. My dad’s a regular donor, but this was my first time, and I was a little nervous because I fudged my weight — you have to be minimum 110 lbs and I only reach that on certain days. Turns out that that was okay, but being dehydrated was not, especially since this was only discovered after they took my blood.

Having picked up a few tips from my father, I ate a cheeseburger for the iron and drank some root beer for the sugar before donating. However, I completely forgot that I had been dying of thirst earlier in the day and had been too busy running late to get something to drink. The nurses became aware of this as they bustled around me putting icewater-soaked cloths on my skin, checking my blood pressure repeatedly, and generally making a fuss. They had to fill out a Reaction/Incident report. It was embarrassing.

So I ended up spending something like an hour and a half in the clinic. According to the volunteers, I was still quite pale when they let me leave. But I’d totally do it again. They told me about one guy who passes out every single time he donates, and does it anyway. Now that’s dedication. I was advised to wait a while before trying again, but frankly I stopped growing in height and weight years ago, so time won’t make much difference. I figure I’ll try one more time, and if I don’t make a good donor, I’ll look into volunteering at a local clinic.

Thanks to sleeping over at Ben’s house, I made it to my 9:30 English class for the first time in almost two weeks. Moreover, I discovered that my Mac is able to get a wireless connection in that lecture hall, which DODOF never managed to do, and it did it cleanly, simply and quickly, without all the fussing around with multiple connection windows. This makes me especially happy because I have two classes there this term.

So it was in class, checking my grades online, that I discovered I got 84% on my linguistics midterm. The one for which I accidentally studied the IPA vowels in reverse order and didn’t study the history of the IPA at all. I have no idea what happened; I’m just going to nod and smile.

Taking suggestions for my computer’s name. Right now it’s just The Baby. But I already have one baby, and I want this one to be special.

Ben and I popped down to the States today to take advantage of Canada’s illustrious dollar. He picked up an XBox 360 and I bought myself a Macbook. I completely forgot that Leopard just came out, so that was a nice additional surprise — it’s installing, albeit painfully slowly, as I type.

We had plans to go to a Halloween party tonight. I even bought myself a pinstriped suit jacket to complete my mobster costume. Then Ben decided to hook up the 360 at my house, and well… you can guess where we’ll be tonight. He asked me if I wanted to go, and my response was to stare lovingly at my shiny shiny Mac. I’ve never been much for parties, especially not when I have an expensive new toy to play with.

I haven’t been to English in a week, and I adore that class. But I beat the forest temple. Hooray!

Exam marks so far:
Developmental Psych — 79.6 [deep breaths]
Educational Psych — 81
Linguistics (Nature of Texts) — 95

Still waiting on grades for Introductory Linguistics and my awful English paper.

Dooce describes depression perfectly:

“One minute I’m perfectly fine, sipping a cup of coffee, flipping through a magazine filled with photos of meticulously art-directed living rooms, thinking I’d very much like those square acrylic tables or that pillow covered in suede. An hour later I’m having a panic attack at the thought of taking a shower, the energy it would require, how it seems so dumb that we keep having to do it over and over again, and then extrapolating that to every task in day-to-day life, making the bed or washing the dishes, it never ends. It just keeps going on and on, there is no destination, just the work of trying to get there. Maybe I’m just too sad to push that rock up the hill today.

“And then I’m all, shut up. You smell. Go wash your hair.”

The mouseover text describes it perfectly.

I’m feeling the itch to photograph something, but I don’t have a clear idea what. I feel very limited by my lack of equipment, which I know is just an artistic cop-out; nevertheless, every idea I come up with is met with a little voice whining, “that would be so much better if you only had a (studio/better camera/willing model/miscellaneous prop).”

With writing, I don’t even have that excuse. Writing is possibly the cheapest art in existence. My problem seems to be that the only way I’m able to produce anything these days is with powerful emotional stimulation. I think that’s why I like fan fiction so much: it’s easy to recall feelings from somebody else’s well-written story, so memory is really all the inspiration I need. But then I get caught up in plot details and authentic character representation and historical trivia, and I find myself stuck. Hence Ico and the Dark Prince remain tragically unwritten about.

If I could find the time to play Twilight Princess, I bet I’d be in a better place. Alas, school, work, boyfriends and friends demand all my hours and minutes, and I’m afraid I’m no longer hardcore enough to blow off any of them for videogames. Sometimes this whole Growing Up thing sucks.

As penance for missing psych this morning, I tidied up my apartment and cleaned my bathroom. Even though I missed my next class as well, it felt worth it: there is little more satisfying in life to an OCD girl than a pristine bathroom.

I don’t presume to think that anyone other than me cares when I update my blog, but really, this whole posting-every-three-days business is a little silly. Either write or don’t, you know? I’d dearly love to post every day, but the truth of it it is, I rarely feel I have anything interesting to say. The few times when I do, I’m inevitably busy or without an internet connection.

So, what’s been going on in this life of mine. I reconnected with an old high school friend last week and we’ve been hanging out a lot. I’m slowly but steadily learning lindy hop and enjoying it immensely, no matter what my groaning leg muscles say. Wrote a very easy linguistics midterm and then an ill-prepared-for linguistics midterm. Still waiting on psych exam marks. The hair is growing, as hair tends to do, and every length appears more awkward than the last. Been rather dry artistically lately — today I dredged up the Dark Prince fic I abandoned, fully intending to write some more, and then realized that the plot skeleton for the next chapter is on a scrap of paper somewhere in my house. It sat on my dresser in my old bedroom for ages, pleading to be used, and every time I looked at it I made a mental note to not throw it away. I’ll probably come across it eventually, sometime when I’m not looking for it, as that tends to be the way I find things.

I have procured the new Radiohead album. I even gave the band some money. It is excellent — surprisingly harmonious and overall delightful.

As fascinating as the issue is, do not read up on abortion alone, late at night with the lights off. It can lead to feeling distinctly creeped out and alone.

I got his discs this time.

Ever since I got a henna tattoo of the Chinese character for “dragon”, I’ve been considering getting something permanent like that. I’ve always vehemently opposed tattoos, not out of any conservative principle or anything, just because I think I would change my mind later on. But I found that I really enjoyed having that little picture on my upper back (right shoulder). It’s fitting: I was born in the year of the dragon, and I daresay certain elements of my personality are rather fiery.

I’m wary of getting a Chinese character for fear of coming across as one of those ignorant pseudo-exotic types. It occurred to me that a small dragon might be more appropriate to my ethnicity. So far the one I like best is this one, approximately actual size:

When flipped around, it forms an S shape, which would be neat, although I don’t intend to have the legal name Sarah for much longer. I might keep it as a middle name — haven’t fully decided yet, which is why I haven’t sent in any forms. So far Katherine Audrey Kelly and Katherine Sarah Kelly both sound pretty viable.

Has everyone witnessed Miss South Carolina’s brilliance by now? I have to write a paper on it. For tomorrow. Hence the procrastinatory blogging.

They tried to stop me from voting, but they couldn’t. No power in the ‘verse can stop me.

I didn’t receive a letter of residency and when I went to the polls, my name wasn’t on the list. But they let me vote anyway. Yay!

Second midterm of the day is in four hours and I still don’t feel like studying. It’s not really that bad; there’s a lot of overlap from the first one, which I crammed for last night. One of these days I should learn how to study… but it’s just so much easier not to.

I will start attending psych regularly, though. Even the classes I went to just to sit there nodding off without taking notes helped.

Update: The second exam was easy. I wrote an essay on self-regulation, aka Everything I Don’t Do, mentally laughing as I recalled perfectly all the inane steps I learned by cramming half an hour before the test.

Dinner was a smashing success. Once we had a comfortable amount of red wine and pumpkin pie in us, we went back to his end of the city and I finally got to meet his friends. It was great to be able to put faces to the names he’s always mentioning, and I got to hear all kinds of funny childhood stories.

At his friend’s house, I tried my best not to be a drunken idiot when the amaretto sours and the rest of the wine started hitting my brain, though the walk to the bar was something of a happy blur. I cut myself off at that point and just drank water while the other guys got sauced enough to sing karaoke classics such as “I Will Survive.” My stomach was grateful.

At the end of the night, the guys let me know I had Passed. Ben was proud of me: apparently his last girlfriend took a lot longer to gain their approval. Take that, jealousy.

Today was Thanksgiving lunch at my grandmother’s house — always a good time. The leftovers will sustain me most deliciously for several days. For now I’m celebrating my calm stomach with the mini sugar doughnuts I wheedled my mother into buying when we went grocery shopping a few days ago. When they’re gone, which at the current rate of consumption will be soon, I’ll still have pumpkin pie, crispy apple pie, and several flavours of ice cream to devour. Ah, holidays. Such a delectable time.

Work was long and busy but not terrible. My bathroom smells like a public swimming pool since I cleaned the shower, which oddly is a smell I don’t mind, but it’s overpowered by the divine air freshener I bought today. The hideous free couch a family friend passed on to me is now slipcovered and lovely in the shockingly domesticated Lair. I have cooked a delicious pumpkin pie (which I am currently not eating… the things we do for love). I’m about to start preparing some of the vegetables for tomorrow’s dinner.

I guess right about now is the time I’m supposed to feel thankful, ideally to some form of deity. Since I can’t pinpoint a particular entity, I’ll settle for generic contentment.

So I’m browsing through my Flickr photos, comparing pageview numbers with DA. 11.. 23… 16… 184, hey, awesome… 77… 1702?!

This pattern continues throughout my gallery: 40-32-15-140-1398. My most frequently viewed photo is this random shot. Which happens to be home to the creepiest comment ever.

Why, Flickr community? Why must you make no sense?

Judging by the empty mousetraps, Skitter is still alive and well. I think I saw him dash across the carpet yesterday.

I am excited to announce another adventure in my life: I am going to attempt to cook a simple Thanksgiving dinner, with a Cornish hen in place of a turkey. Bear in mind that I do not cook, like ever — I’ve never had any culinary aspirations and I’m usually content to eat cereal or chocolate milk for dinner. This decision came about purely out of love and appreciation for my darling boy, who is going on his sixth motherless Thanksgiving this year. As is tradition, my family is going to my grandmother’s house on Monday for delicious Croatian fare, but taking the boyfriend to meet the grandparents is a huge step — one that Ning never experienced, although that was mostly because my grandparents are racist against non-whites. What can I say, they’re old.

Like a Sim gaining cooking skill points, I’m nervously reading recipes to get ideas for how to best roast new potatoes. So wish me luck, and keep your phalanges crossed that I don’t burn the house down.

I’ve decided I want to learn another language. I always thought it would be nice, but I have a couple extra pressures now: studying linguistics is giving me a better understanding of languages in general, and I’m jealous of Ben’s fluency in French and Spanish. More than anything I wish my dad had taught me Croatian when I was little, but he says the dialect he and his parents speak is poor country folk’s language.

So I’ve narrowed down the possible second languages to Croatian, French and Mandarin Chinese. Each would be useful in different ways, and I’m starting at very different points of competency for each. I’d lean toward French if the memories of loathing French class weren’t quite so vivid. Irregular verbs always irritated me.

There is a small brown mouse wandering around my room. I have named it Skitter, since that seems to be its favourite activity. It’s an adorable little thing and I want very badly to scoop it up and pet it whenever I catch a glimpse of it. However, I’m not quite as fond of the diseases it presumably carries, so I set a couple mousetraps around my room. While I did my linguistics homework, Skitter emerged occasionally and twice almost walked into one of the paper bags containing a peanut butter-smeared trap. I was sad for it; it’s too cute to die such a horrible violent death.

May your passing be swift and relatively painless, Skitter. Until then, please try to make a little less noise when you’re crawling around in my ceiling.

We’re watching a video clip of the guy who wrote Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus. He is full of crap.

There is a spider crawling toward me and I don’t want to squash it with my pretty new shoes. However, I also don’t want to find it later in my laptop bag. I blew it away for now.

I meant to accomplish things today between my 9:30 and 4:30 lectures, I really did. Pop Perspectives weighs heavy in my laptop bag. But at 10:30 I went out for breakfast with Ben and we decided to take a nap, and then to extend that nap, and then to take showers, and soon it was 2:30 and I didn’t feel like reading about popular culture. So I killed time on Ben’s computer before trudging off to class. Now I’m hungry again. In half an hour when this class is over, rather than going home and cracking open the textbooks, I’m probably going to meet up with Ben and grab some dinner, after which I’ll be tempted to watch Firefly with him before his 7:00 class. Self-discipline has lost another battle.

It’s been a fun day. I got off work early because it was dead — they were silly and scheduled in two of us on a Sunday. Because last night I’d agreed to come in an hour earlier than scheduled to open the store (the other girl didn’t have a key), I got to leave. So I did some shopping, bought a pair of Puma knockoffs for $40 because I’ve been lusting after the real things for far too long now and am still unwilling to spend that much money when I inevitably destroy my shoes. Then I bussed down to the west end and spent some quality time with Ben before heading over to McMaster’s swing dance club. That was fun, even though I’m still a terrible dancer and the scarce few things I remember from taking jive with Dave way back when aren’t useful for lindy hop. I’ll learn. And meeting people is something I really should do more of.