So once again it's back to this place that I can almost call home, Brown University, for another year of good old Neuroscience classes and Organic Chemistry labs.
Back to studying late into the night at the Science Library.
To walking Thayer in search of that perfect brew of coffee.
And even though I have the Mcats to think about sometime next semester, I can relax and enjoy the fact that at my fingertips are thousands of resources that can, and will, make me a better person.
Ladies and gentlemen, in no particular order of preference, the long awaited deadrocketcow class list:
CH36: Organic Chemistry
BI80: Principles of Physiology
SI30: Intermediate American Sign Language 1
BN167: Neuropharmacology and Synaptic Transmission
Did you miss me?
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2005
How awesome is Coldplay?
Look:
All that noise and all that sound
All those places I got found
And birds go flying at the speed of sound
To show you how it all began
Birds came flying from the underground
If you could see it, then you’d understand
Need I go on?
All that noise and all that sound
All those places I got found
And birds go flying at the speed of sound
To show you how it all began
Birds came flying from the underground
If you could see it, then you’d understand
Need I go on?
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Words cannot express
I want to tell you a bit about myself. My name is Meredith, I am 5’7, I live with my parents, and tonight I am going to kill them.
Now that you have read that, you may be thinking that I must be mad or worse still, that I am one of those troubled youths who, refusing to let the system brainwash their genius minds must get the system before it gets them, and must begin this process by exterminating their progenitors. Let me assure you that this is not so. I have spent the greater part of 20 years on this planet that I call home thinking about the perfect consciousness. It came to me in a flash last night. You see, blood is a beautiful thing. It flows through your veins, pumping all that sweet oxygen up and down the avenues of your body, making deliveries to every cell. If you cut just so on your wrist, you will feel the pain that comes from cutting through skin, sensitizing mechano and then pain receptors that scream to you, something is wrong, harm is being caused to your body. Deep enough, and blood, warm and red, wells out into the laceration. Deeper still and a few drops become an outflow that gushes forth life, and informs you of the possibilities that exist under your skin, of the richness of being human.
But I digress.
I think about blood often. I lie in my bed, envisioning pools of red liquid, lakes of erythrocytes, hemocytes, leukocytes, thick oceans of pure, hot blood. Of veins spurting forth hemoglobin enriched cells, of thick aortas working and pumping, of punctured carotid arteries pouring out deluges of blood.
So you see, I love the human body. I have a healthy respect for what keeps it alive. My fascination is blood, and tonight I will cure myself of this curiosity, this madness that grips me in the still of the night and takes over my mind. And what better blood, than the blood of the people I love?
Come now, I know what you are thinking. You think I am insane, I am deranged. What psychotic monster have my parents unleashed upon the world? To what stage of utter lunacy have I reached that I would even think such things?
Again, let me assure you. This is not so. Some things simply must be. Things will come to pass….my, how didactic I have become. They will feel no pain, and just think – what wonders will be revealed to mankind. How clear, how sweet the manifestation of what life is. Words cannot express. It will be an ecstatic jubilation of what it means to be alive. And I will relish every moment.
Now that you have read that, you may be thinking that I must be mad or worse still, that I am one of those troubled youths who, refusing to let the system brainwash their genius minds must get the system before it gets them, and must begin this process by exterminating their progenitors. Let me assure you that this is not so. I have spent the greater part of 20 years on this planet that I call home thinking about the perfect consciousness. It came to me in a flash last night. You see, blood is a beautiful thing. It flows through your veins, pumping all that sweet oxygen up and down the avenues of your body, making deliveries to every cell. If you cut just so on your wrist, you will feel the pain that comes from cutting through skin, sensitizing mechano and then pain receptors that scream to you, something is wrong, harm is being caused to your body. Deep enough, and blood, warm and red, wells out into the laceration. Deeper still and a few drops become an outflow that gushes forth life, and informs you of the possibilities that exist under your skin, of the richness of being human.
But I digress.
I think about blood often. I lie in my bed, envisioning pools of red liquid, lakes of erythrocytes, hemocytes, leukocytes, thick oceans of pure, hot blood. Of veins spurting forth hemoglobin enriched cells, of thick aortas working and pumping, of punctured carotid arteries pouring out deluges of blood.
So you see, I love the human body. I have a healthy respect for what keeps it alive. My fascination is blood, and tonight I will cure myself of this curiosity, this madness that grips me in the still of the night and takes over my mind. And what better blood, than the blood of the people I love?
Come now, I know what you are thinking. You think I am insane, I am deranged. What psychotic monster have my parents unleashed upon the world? To what stage of utter lunacy have I reached that I would even think such things?
Again, let me assure you. This is not so. Some things simply must be. Things will come to pass….my, how didactic I have become. They will feel no pain, and just think – what wonders will be revealed to mankind. How clear, how sweet the manifestation of what life is. Words cannot express. It will be an ecstatic jubilation of what it means to be alive. And I will relish every moment.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Elevator wars
What is it about the nature of the elevator interior that demands total silence and complete termination of all previous form of communication?
The area in front of the elevator is an extroverts paradise. Work mates clutch cups of expensive, hot starbucks coffee, weekends are described, new shoes, jewelry and other such adornments appraised. Life is good, and high powered executive frolics with lowly janitor. Buttons are pressed, the wonder of being at work is discussed, and all is well.
Then a light flashes. Ding! A slight shift in the air, and people regard each other, stealing furtive glances from under lowered lashes. An almost imperceptible spirit visible only to the trained eye has possessed this group. It reveals itself in the clenched buttock, in the tightening of the jaw, the faltering conversation.
The doors open, and each walks into his own private territory. A little to the left, a bit to the back. Muttered excuse me's and sorry's are exchanged. Place feet appropriately and stance.
In a second, the elevator doors glide towards each other and shut.
And there is silence.
1 - ding
2 - ding
Shoes are examined. Quality mentally assessed and prices calculated. That one over there shops at Walmart. That one over here shops at JC Penny. Not me, I shop at Saks. Noses turn upward as if seeking the air that is purest and untainted.
3 - ding
Eyes ever forward, faces composed, eyes unyielding. It is the great elevator undertaking. Be cool. Be sauve.
4, 5 - ding, ding. People get off.
And down again.
The area in front of the elevator is an extroverts paradise. Work mates clutch cups of expensive, hot starbucks coffee, weekends are described, new shoes, jewelry and other such adornments appraised. Life is good, and high powered executive frolics with lowly janitor. Buttons are pressed, the wonder of being at work is discussed, and all is well.
Then a light flashes. Ding! A slight shift in the air, and people regard each other, stealing furtive glances from under lowered lashes. An almost imperceptible spirit visible only to the trained eye has possessed this group. It reveals itself in the clenched buttock, in the tightening of the jaw, the faltering conversation.
The doors open, and each walks into his own private territory. A little to the left, a bit to the back. Muttered excuse me's and sorry's are exchanged. Place feet appropriately and stance.
In a second, the elevator doors glide towards each other and shut.
And there is silence.
1 - ding
2 - ding
Shoes are examined. Quality mentally assessed and prices calculated. That one over there shops at Walmart. That one over here shops at JC Penny. Not me, I shop at Saks. Noses turn upward as if seeking the air that is purest and untainted.
3 - ding
Eyes ever forward, faces composed, eyes unyielding. It is the great elevator undertaking. Be cool. Be sauve.
4, 5 - ding, ding. People get off.
And down again.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Hell is my house
My days have passed away, my
thoughts are dissipated, tormenting my
heart.
They have turned night into day,
and after darkness I hope for light again.
If I wait hell is my house, and I have
made my bed in darkness.
I have said to rottenness; thou art
my father; to worms, my mother and
my sister.
Where is now then my expectation,
and who considereth my patience?
All that I have shall go down into
the deepest pit: Thinkest thou that there
at least I shall have rest?
Job 17: 11 - 16
thoughts are dissipated, tormenting my
heart.
They have turned night into day,
and after darkness I hope for light again.
If I wait hell is my house, and I have
made my bed in darkness.
I have said to rottenness; thou art
my father; to worms, my mother and
my sister.
Where is now then my expectation,
and who considereth my patience?
All that I have shall go down into
the deepest pit: Thinkest thou that there
at least I shall have rest?
Job 17: 11 - 16
Sunday, May 08, 2005
They are with me
so we are here. you and I. let us sit at this table, this big table, over polished glass and wanton displays of starched whiteness. lift fork here, sip water there.
only do not look at me that way. if you do, i will poison your children
murder your seed
haha, you like that? and you drape me with the flesh of exotic tree dwelling animals. when you adorn my neck with blood, you smile to yourself. i am your pretty trinket, your gold plated imitation gucci. smile at me, you say. i smile at you, and the silver you planted in my teeth reflects the candlelight that bounces offyour bald head
we sit at this table that is as long as it is wide, under ceiling as high as you are tall. you look down at me, possesively, exclusively. everything is as you want it. shoes? i will give you shoes, licentious underclothing that you tear offmy naked body
wear red, you say. i wear red, and i hang my head hang my head my head...
and they watch. perhaps it is the smell of the cocoa butter that you spread on my back. remind me how to be cruel. remind me that clothes hanging to dry under hot sun strong wind
look like ghost and whisper treacherous ideas to me.
only open your eyes and you will see that I talk with them. if you come, you will see me, and you will see how I am with them. and so we sit here
at
this table
that is as long as it is wide as dark as you are strong
and they are with me
only do not look at me that way. if you do, i will poison your children
murder your seed
haha, you like that? and you drape me with the flesh of exotic tree dwelling animals. when you adorn my neck with blood, you smile to yourself. i am your pretty trinket, your gold plated imitation gucci. smile at me, you say. i smile at you, and the silver you planted in my teeth reflects the candlelight that bounces offyour bald head
we sit at this table that is as long as it is wide, under ceiling as high as you are tall. you look down at me, possesively, exclusively. everything is as you want it. shoes? i will give you shoes, licentious underclothing that you tear offmy naked body
wear red, you say. i wear red, and i hang my head hang my head my head...
and they watch. perhaps it is the smell of the cocoa butter that you spread on my back. remind me how to be cruel. remind me that clothes hanging to dry under hot sun strong wind
look like ghost and whisper treacherous ideas to me.
only open your eyes and you will see that I talk with them. if you come, you will see me, and you will see how I am with them. and so we sit here
at
this table
that is as long as it is wide as dark as you are strong
and they are with me
Thursday, May 05, 2005
May is for mothers
Back in the day Mom used to get excruciating migraines and she still gets them once in a while, but those suckers rendered her completely defenceless, reduced to an agonised heap beneath sweaty and dark sheets. I would sneak into her room, lay next to her on that huge expanse of bed, and stare at her. I remember those times, like they were (yes indeed) yesterday. The fan would whir out its promises each time it made its relentless circuit, and as it turned to face us, breathe soft air into the stagnant migraine waters of the room.
Vague and disorganised primary school memories hide in the dark recess of my mind. They float around like faded post it notes, dropped behind a cluttered desk, aching to be examined again.
I see her, morning after morning, holding the blue jacket I had to stuff into my bag before I got to school because it 'wasn't part of the uniform, and could be con-fis-cated' over the grill, so it would be warm when I wore it. And when I walked to the stop, with my head as low in my jacket as was possible, and the sleep still in my eyes, I was warm.
And always, always, just like clockwork, in the hour she had for lunch, she would come pick me up after school. I tried to be nonchalant about it, face expressionless, walking over to the car with not a care in the world. Yeah, Mom, I knew you were coming.
But I was delighted. Nothing beat the joy of seeing her come driving into the parking lot, with the window slightly down, and the smell of ZCCM wafting out the car.
And there would be ice-cream after that. Bright (almost to the point of fluorescence) pink artifically flavored after taste inducing strawberry ice-cream. I loved it. It gave her headaches, but she ate it with me anyway.
It's all that, and it's more. I know you know this already, but hey. My Mom rocks.
Vague and disorganised primary school memories hide in the dark recess of my mind. They float around like faded post it notes, dropped behind a cluttered desk, aching to be examined again.
I see her, morning after morning, holding the blue jacket I had to stuff into my bag before I got to school because it 'wasn't part of the uniform, and could be con-fis-cated' over the grill, so it would be warm when I wore it. And when I walked to the stop, with my head as low in my jacket as was possible, and the sleep still in my eyes, I was warm.
And always, always, just like clockwork, in the hour she had for lunch, she would come pick me up after school. I tried to be nonchalant about it, face expressionless, walking over to the car with not a care in the world. Yeah, Mom, I knew you were coming.
But I was delighted. Nothing beat the joy of seeing her come driving into the parking lot, with the window slightly down, and the smell of ZCCM wafting out the car.
And there would be ice-cream after that. Bright (almost to the point of fluorescence) pink artifically flavored after taste inducing strawberry ice-cream. I loved it. It gave her headaches, but she ate it with me anyway.
It's all that, and it's more. I know you know this already, but hey. My Mom rocks.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
I like your earrings
Look, I don't know you. When I'm sitting in the CIT or the Sci Li, and I'm frowning over my Organic Chemistry text book, with the steam coming out of my ears because I can't figure out how to make a reaction work, don't smile at me. I don't want to see your pretty little crest whitestrip enhanced dental formula. The reason I have those huge headphones over my ears is because I don't want to exchange idle chit chat with you. So what if it's nice outside? I have an exam tomorrow, and I feel really, really stupid right now. I don't want to stop my music and take off my earphones to listen to you tell me you're also considering being pre-med, or that you're a freshman (really, only freshmen do this), and yes isn't Organic Chemistry so incredibly boring?
I have synthesis problems to figure out, reagents to memorise and carbons to count. So when you walk in with your pink little ruffled barely there summer skirt, matching toenails and cute tote bag, walk past me, find your see-and-be-seen center stage spot at the table and fuss over the 8 page paper you have due for your English final.
Complain that your class is so very hard, because you have a paper due every other month. Or you actually have to read through an entire book to keep up with class readings.
And yeah, I actually do mind turning down my music. I have it blasting away on purpose. I like a nicely fried eardrum. Don't look at me, and I certainly won't look at you. I have work to do.
By the way, I like your earrings.
I have synthesis problems to figure out, reagents to memorise and carbons to count. So when you walk in with your pink little ruffled barely there summer skirt, matching toenails and cute tote bag, walk past me, find your see-and-be-seen center stage spot at the table and fuss over the 8 page paper you have due for your English final.
Complain that your class is so very hard, because you have a paper due every other month. Or you actually have to read through an entire book to keep up with class readings.
And yeah, I actually do mind turning down my music. I have it blasting away on purpose. I like a nicely fried eardrum. Don't look at me, and I certainly won't look at you. I have work to do.
By the way, I like your earrings.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
What do you mean, 'it's only an email'?
Hi [my name] jus wnted 2 kno if u cud meet earlier on 2day 'stead of @ 2pm lik we sed. s'thing came up and I hav 2 go out of twn this afternoon. how dus 10am sound? thanks, [her name].
With the veins bulging out in my neck, my eyeballs nearly bursting out of their sockets and an increasingly accelerating heart beat, I considered deleting this email and never speaking to this person again.
What an utter atrocity of an email! How dare we let ourselves sink to this disgusting level of erroneous punctuation and nauseating grammar.
I cannot believe the argument that because it is only an email, it doesn't need to be letter perfect. Is this a logical conclusion? Is it? Just because one is able to communicate with someone else in an instant, just because the way in which one is achieving this communication is electronic is not reason enough that we become derelict and sloppy with our writing.
That form of communication, regardless of the medium, is going to be received, read and assumptions are going to be made about the way the sender thinks - after all, what is an email but a presentation of ones ideas?
And saying the reason we can be tardy in the way we write is because it is so convenient is utter hogwash. Surely, a convenience such as this ought to give us more time to take pride in the way we write, to articulate ourselves well and damnit, to use paragraphs.
No, it is not just an email. It is a reflection of who you are. It is communication. Take pride in the way you write.
And at the very least, be coherent.
With the veins bulging out in my neck, my eyeballs nearly bursting out of their sockets and an increasingly accelerating heart beat, I considered deleting this email and never speaking to this person again.
What an utter atrocity of an email! How dare we let ourselves sink to this disgusting level of erroneous punctuation and nauseating grammar.
I cannot believe the argument that because it is only an email, it doesn't need to be letter perfect. Is this a logical conclusion? Is it? Just because one is able to communicate with someone else in an instant, just because the way in which one is achieving this communication is electronic is not reason enough that we become derelict and sloppy with our writing.
That form of communication, regardless of the medium, is going to be received, read and assumptions are going to be made about the way the sender thinks - after all, what is an email but a presentation of ones ideas?
And saying the reason we can be tardy in the way we write is because it is so convenient is utter hogwash. Surely, a convenience such as this ought to give us more time to take pride in the way we write, to articulate ourselves well and damnit, to use paragraphs.
No, it is not just an email. It is a reflection of who you are. It is communication. Take pride in the way you write.
And at the very least, be coherent.
Friday, April 08, 2005
It's all about me
Advanced Global Personality Test Results
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Monday, April 04, 2005
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Becoming normal
And so my spring break is almost over and I am glad. I really cannot wait until Wednesday at 5pm when I have my ghanain drumming class. I cannot wait to complain that I have three exams on the same day, and lab hasn't been cancelled.
I want to hit the V-dub at 4:45pm, have a quick dinner and then swipe my card to begin 4 hours of work with the nicest, most interesting workers there are.
I miss Manny, with his gray hair curling out from under his Buds cap, and his shy smile.
I miss Antonio aka Tony, with the long braid that goes all the way down to the small of his back. You don't want to mess with him.
And even though Ernesto gives me the creeps with his I'm-so-hot-right-now attitude (especially when he slips on that awful leather jacket) and his mashed finger - I kinda miss him too.
I miss parrying Pedro's continued quest to take me out to dinner.
Or Rabbit telling me what a great job I've done as soon as I walk in the door.
I miss seeing the shock on Bling-Bling and Baby-Gurl's faces when I tell them how I spend my weekends - studying or doing research at the Sci Li/CIT.
"Girl, you need to go clubbin sometime. You need a life"
I don't really know the other two student workers. They come and they go. Depending on how good they are at holding back their dinner when they discover they have to scrape the remains off other people's plates, or (oh, the horror) clean up the mess their friends made, they may last the week. I usually give them 3 weeks max. Then new ones come.
So far I haven't lost a bet.
Wow. I've been up all night.
I want to hit the V-dub at 4:45pm, have a quick dinner and then swipe my card to begin 4 hours of work with the nicest, most interesting workers there are.
I miss Manny, with his gray hair curling out from under his Buds cap, and his shy smile.
I miss Antonio aka Tony, with the long braid that goes all the way down to the small of his back. You don't want to mess with him.
And even though Ernesto gives me the creeps with his I'm-so-hot-right-now attitude (especially when he slips on that awful leather jacket) and his mashed finger - I kinda miss him too.
I miss parrying Pedro's continued quest to take me out to dinner.
Or Rabbit telling me what a great job I've done as soon as I walk in the door.
I miss seeing the shock on Bling-Bling and Baby-Gurl's faces when I tell them how I spend my weekends - studying or doing research at the Sci Li/CIT.
"Girl, you need to go clubbin sometime. You need a life"
I don't really know the other two student workers. They come and they go. Depending on how good they are at holding back their dinner when they discover they have to scrape the remains off other people's plates, or (oh, the horror) clean up the mess their friends made, they may last the week. I usually give them 3 weeks max. Then new ones come.
So far I haven't lost a bet.
Wow. I've been up all night.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Life is
silence. heart beating. blood - blood gushing. life blood. who said life was about blue skies and green fields?
Life is
tears gray skies winter cold streets mist
Today is Thor's-day. He sleeps somewhere with his short hammer dreaming about thunder. Sometimes I dream about thunder. I dream about it perhaps because it makes me small. And everybody wants to feel small and insignificant right?
Right?
I discovered today that I define myself by what I do. I need Organic Chemistry, and I need Neuroscience, I need deadlines for research, because without them...
Life is
tears gray skies winter cold streets mist
Last night I went and saw two movies all by my lonesome. I saw The Ring 2, and then I saw Hitch. I should have done it the other way round, but what gives.
I liked The Ring 2 because I felt helpless, scared and alive. I liked the idea of a mother having to kill her child to save it. Oh yes.
Evil is like that. You can't keep giving and trying to help it, because it is never satisfied and it will always want more. No matter how patient and loving you are, in the end it will bite you in the back. And then bite your leg for good measure. Because evil loves to bite.
Hitch needs no comment. It was that kind of movie.
I should have watched The Ring twice.
Life is
tears gray skies winter cold streets mist
Today is Thor's-day. He sleeps somewhere with his short hammer dreaming about thunder. Sometimes I dream about thunder. I dream about it perhaps because it makes me small. And everybody wants to feel small and insignificant right?
Right?
I discovered today that I define myself by what I do. I need Organic Chemistry, and I need Neuroscience, I need deadlines for research, because without them...
Life is
tears gray skies winter cold streets mist
Last night I went and saw two movies all by my lonesome. I saw The Ring 2, and then I saw Hitch. I should have done it the other way round, but what gives.
I liked The Ring 2 because I felt helpless, scared and alive. I liked the idea of a mother having to kill her child to save it. Oh yes.
Evil is like that. You can't keep giving and trying to help it, because it is never satisfied and it will always want more. No matter how patient and loving you are, in the end it will bite you in the back. And then bite your leg for good measure. Because evil loves to bite.
Hitch needs no comment. It was that kind of movie.
I should have watched The Ring twice.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Fragments
question;
do you see me? do you see me here? do you see me as I see you? do you want me? do you want me now? do you want me as I want you?
I came back to school today at 8am. I slept right through until 5pm, got up and turned on my computer for my daily sustenance of msn, aim and other people's blogs. A few hours later I got up because I was hungry, and so I ate.
It was raining today. Cold unrelenting buckets of H2O running down my windows - what a sound. I am dismal. Melancholy is such a beautiful word. I feel the quiet of my room pressing down on me from the ceiling, from the walls, and I wonder if the silence will slowly drive me insane. I do not wish to speak - speaking will only disturb the silence that has accumulated like dust on my skin. I feel as though I could sit in bed forever, I feel as though I will remain ageless; unmoving and untouched by time.
My mind is slowly emptying itself out. It is like a black hole now. A space that once was filled. Only blankness-
blank blackness, black blankness...
I cannot describe to you this sensation. I am floating in the dark. Pure utter, darkness. It is pure because there is only dark. It is utter because it is complete- and I like it. I want to stay in this blackness forever.
do you see me? do you see me here? do you see me as I see you? do you want me? do you want me now? do you want me as I want you?
I came back to school today at 8am. I slept right through until 5pm, got up and turned on my computer for my daily sustenance of msn, aim and other people's blogs. A few hours later I got up because I was hungry, and so I ate.
It was raining today. Cold unrelenting buckets of H2O running down my windows - what a sound. I am dismal. Melancholy is such a beautiful word. I feel the quiet of my room pressing down on me from the ceiling, from the walls, and I wonder if the silence will slowly drive me insane. I do not wish to speak - speaking will only disturb the silence that has accumulated like dust on my skin. I feel as though I could sit in bed forever, I feel as though I will remain ageless; unmoving and untouched by time.
My mind is slowly emptying itself out. It is like a black hole now. A space that once was filled. Only blankness-
blank blackness, black blankness...
I cannot describe to you this sensation. I am floating in the dark. Pure utter, darkness. It is pure because there is only dark. It is utter because it is complete- and I like it. I want to stay in this blackness forever.
This must end
Perfecting the art of the Anti-social one day at a time; one silent hour after the other. In my room, reading my book, as always. Got up this morning, went to my computer, as always. Checked in at the Msn Hotel, with a stop at the Aim Plaza, for an increasingly unhealthy addiction to making huge castles in the air with random online people. (let's save the world) People I've never met. People I will never meet. And so my mind wanders-
because I have too much time on my hands. I don't have to think about studying Orgo, or neuroscience or practicing my sign language. No research to get done by the end of the week, no work, no lab, just a nothing-ness that could stretch on forever. And so my mind wanders-
because...
And the thing is, I want to stay in my room. I want to stay here until the end of spring break, and just breathe. And even if a friend I know who is also on campus knocked on my door and wanted us to go do something, I would say no. So when my friends come back from Miami, and Hawai, and the-place-where-College-sophomores-go-to-get-wild, they will ask me why I stayed in my room all week and did nothing. I will have no answer, and they will make their own answers for me - they will tell me it's
because...
Because in another dimension I would be
would be...exhilarated.
And they will fling the D word at me. They will tell me I need to get over-
the hill, it's a big hill, and ah, the grass is so green. And there are flowers. Purple flowers, and oh, the sky is so blue...
Insurmountable, unforgettable. The telltale signs of a fleeting moment, a moment that lasted ten thousand years, yet was over before it ever began. Slowly sinking in a downward spiral.
This must end.
because I have too much time on my hands. I don't have to think about studying Orgo, or neuroscience or practicing my sign language. No research to get done by the end of the week, no work, no lab, just a nothing-ness that could stretch on forever. And so my mind wanders-
because...
And the thing is, I want to stay in my room. I want to stay here until the end of spring break, and just breathe. And even if a friend I know who is also on campus knocked on my door and wanted us to go do something, I would say no. So when my friends come back from Miami, and Hawai, and the-place-where-College-sophomores-go-to-get-wild, they will ask me why I stayed in my room all week and did nothing. I will have no answer, and they will make their own answers for me - they will tell me it's
because...
Because in another dimension I would be
would be...exhilarated.
And they will fling the D word at me. They will tell me I need to get over-
the hill, it's a big hill, and ah, the grass is so green. And there are flowers. Purple flowers, and oh, the sky is so blue...
Insurmountable, unforgettable. The telltale signs of a fleeting moment, a moment that lasted ten thousand years, yet was over before it ever began. Slowly sinking in a downward spiral.
This must end.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Hello Spring Break
Walking out of Organic Chemistry this morning was an almost tangible load off my mind. Just to think; for the next week and a half, life will be pure, divine bliss with waking up as late as I can, guilt free conversations on messenger ad nauseam, and blogging to my hearts content.
And then there's Adult Swim, Cartoon Network (perhaps a little Nickelodeon) and Comedy Central - how I have longed for their off-beat humor and poorly drawn animated characters.
Haven't watched tv in the longest time.
But still, there is work to be done. If I am not done declaring my concentration by sometime in April, I will not be allowed to register for my 5th semester at Brown. Now that, is not cool.
Now, lest you think I am tardy, let me tell you that I was done declaring my concentration at the beginning of the semester until I discovered that neuropharmacology is like.....awesome. Of course I had arranged my classes with a focus on understanding the molecular basis of memory, including working in a lab for my research thesis....so in short; I need to re-declare.
I want to learn how chemicals affect the brain. How medication used to treat diseases of the brain (and mind, for all you dualists out there) affect it in the process. How awesome is that?
I know. Awesome-est.
I also need to do a research project for sign language. But hey;
out in the street I see flip flops -
and
the sun
touches my cheek and whispers
spring is here
And then there's Adult Swim, Cartoon Network (perhaps a little Nickelodeon) and Comedy Central - how I have longed for their off-beat humor and poorly drawn animated characters.
Haven't watched tv in the longest time.
But still, there is work to be done. If I am not done declaring my concentration by sometime in April, I will not be allowed to register for my 5th semester at Brown. Now that, is not cool.
Now, lest you think I am tardy, let me tell you that I was done declaring my concentration at the beginning of the semester until I discovered that neuropharmacology is like.....awesome. Of course I had arranged my classes with a focus on understanding the molecular basis of memory, including working in a lab for my research thesis....so in short; I need to re-declare.
I want to learn how chemicals affect the brain. How medication used to treat diseases of the brain (and mind, for all you dualists out there) affect it in the process. How awesome is that?
I know. Awesome-est.
I also need to do a research project for sign language. But hey;
out in the street I see flip flops -
and
the sun
touches my cheek and whispers
spring is here
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Like Moses
Come on now, don't you want to see?
This thing that's happening to me
Like Moses has power over sea
So you've got power over me
Coldplay
This thing that's happening to me
Like Moses has power over sea
So you've got power over me
Coldplay
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Getting down to business
I need to study Orgo
I need to study Orgo
I need to study Orgo
I need to study Orgo
(now that I'm done writing about it, I can get down to business)
I need to study Orgo
I need to study Orgo
I need to study Orgo
(now that I'm done writing about it, I can get down to business)
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Lunch at the Ratty
When the sky decides it has had enough of holding the now frozen water molecules (yay Orgo!) in its belly, it opens its mouth and regurgitates (the other way is just nasty) snow onto the world below it, making sure to render every sidewalk, every pedestrian pathway totally inaccessible for simple walking.
So it was that I picked my way through snowy mush to the Sharpe Refectory Cafeteria, aka the Ratty, way down there on the-other-side-of-campus. I was totally making a statement in my bright (Ye, Gad) yellow jacket, which I swore never to wear, on account of it being hazardous to the eyes, but who cares? It was cold out, and it's a mighty warm jacket. As I approached one out of three sets of doors, I removed the earphones from my ears (because you know I was listening to Lenny Kravitz telling me he wants to fly away; yeah, yeah, yeaaah), in order that I would not appear rude when I had palaver with the man-who-swipes-the-cards.
He's a nice man, this man-who-swipes-the-cards, but he's the kinda guy who revs up his engine, and once it gets started, goes full steam ahead into the no return land of when I was your age. So I kept the smile on my face whilst my stomach had pre-lunch conversation with my salivary glands (hunger is the best sauce donchya know - even for Ratty food), nodded at the appropriate intervals, and added a 'yeah' every now and then for good measure. At the juncture between the "I wasn't like that..." and the next "You young people nowadays...." I made my hasty (and hungry) retreat.
So much food, and so little time. This last semester, the Ratty had the Brown's version of Extreme Makeover, and 4 different sections boast a variety (ahem, ahem) of dishes designed to tickle those ravenous student taste buds. For people like me, there is a whole section devoted to animal friendly food. I am a wrap kinda girl, and so I crammed a tomato and basil wrap with beans, cheese, peppers, rice and shredded lettuce, and made my starving way to the grills.
It was a balancing act with my tray, water bottle and bag to find a seat, but I made my way there, and heaved a sigh of relief as I sat down.
It was time to dig in.
So it was that I picked my way through snowy mush to the Sharpe Refectory Cafeteria, aka the Ratty, way down there on the-other-side-of-campus. I was totally making a statement in my bright (Ye, Gad) yellow jacket, which I swore never to wear, on account of it being hazardous to the eyes, but who cares? It was cold out, and it's a mighty warm jacket. As I approached one out of three sets of doors, I removed the earphones from my ears (because you know I was listening to Lenny Kravitz telling me he wants to fly away; yeah, yeah, yeaaah), in order that I would not appear rude when I had palaver with the man-who-swipes-the-cards.
He's a nice man, this man-who-swipes-the-cards, but he's the kinda guy who revs up his engine, and once it gets started, goes full steam ahead into the no return land of when I was your age. So I kept the smile on my face whilst my stomach had pre-lunch conversation with my salivary glands (hunger is the best sauce donchya know - even for Ratty food), nodded at the appropriate intervals, and added a 'yeah' every now and then for good measure. At the juncture between the "I wasn't like that..." and the next "You young people nowadays...." I made my hasty (and hungry) retreat.
So much food, and so little time. This last semester, the Ratty had the Brown's version of Extreme Makeover, and 4 different sections boast a variety (ahem, ahem) of dishes designed to tickle those ravenous student taste buds. For people like me, there is a whole section devoted to animal friendly food. I am a wrap kinda girl, and so I crammed a tomato and basil wrap with beans, cheese, peppers, rice and shredded lettuce, and made my starving way to the grills.
It was a balancing act with my tray, water bottle and bag to find a seat, but I made my way there, and heaved a sigh of relief as I sat down.
It was time to dig in.
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