As I write this, however, I’m sitting on a bus with about 48 other people and not nearly enough leg space, the air permeated by the subtle scent of our combined odors and the snacks everyone brought on the bus with them.
I don’t hate traveling. I am often very fond of traveling, in point of fact. However, A) it is very easy to complain about traveling, and B) I am currently running on about 6 hours of sleep after only having been able to be at home for three full days, and C) I have about 3 square feet of personal space. Or, I suppose, 12 cubic feet, most of which is up and down.
On the other hand, I’m in a fairly good mood right now. I’m not entirely sure why, but I plan to just roll with it. Good moods are like the proverbial gift horse.
Funny thing about that gift horse: I eventually realized that the whole point of the proverb is that you’re not supposed to be too nitpicky about gifts. It’s not as if you’re buying the horse, in which case you would want to make sure that you’re getting the most value for your money. Instead, rather than being +horse and –money, you are +horse with exactly the same amount of money—so don’t fuss about it. It also insults the giver.
On the other hand, I will always prefer my original interpretation of the proverb, which was that if you spent too long looking a gift horse in the mouth, it would eventually kick you in the knees.
[below the cut: My break, Humpty Dumpty, and me unfortunately breaking a promise to you.]
Maybe I'm happy because I had a great break; not long enough, sure, but then again breaks never seem to be long enough. I was incredibly productive, though. I finished watching Warehouse 13, bought season 2 of Community and Eureka on DVD, stayed far away from anyone participating in Black Friday, buttered a turkey (that I, being a pescatarian, did not in fact eat), finished the poster for The Canterville Ghost, moved two incredibly heavy bookshelves from someone else’s house to mine, got a vacuum, read three books for class and one book not for class, bought three new novels, and slept.
So granted, when I say “productive,” I don’t really mean it in the homeworkian sense of the word. On the other hand, as Humpty Dumpty said, “A word means exactly what I want it to mean, neither more nor less.”
(Brilliant guy, Humpty Dumpty. Such a shame that he cracked under the pressure.)
I suppose I should have spent a little more time homeworking, but my homework is beginning to feel a little bit like a hydra. As soon as I finish one assignment, three more pop up in its place. I have three research papers, three critical responses, two short responses and a short story—and that’s not even counting the readings, or the fact that I still need to apply to go study cooking in France.
Am I complaining? Probably. I don’t really mean to: half of the reason I typed up that list was so you would feel sorry for me, but mostly it was so I would have a more definite to-do list than the one in my head. Anyway, like the Brits, I sally forth, unruffled.
This is the Canterville Ghost poster, by the way. I sketched and I watercolored and I scanned and I filtered and I moved it all around and then I refiltered, and then I ended up with this:
I kind of like it, even if I volunteered to do it on Sunday and then had to scramble to finish it before the end of the week, in between travelling and Thanksgiving and all that stuff I mentioned above.
What else? Well, I got lost on the way to the bus today, because DC’s road layout is designed to trap the unwary. “Sasha, darling,” said my mother, “when you walk out of Union Station, make a right on Mass Ave, and then another right on North Capitol, and then another right on K, and then a left on First Street.”
“Verily,” said I, and then I got out of the car and there was much wailing and mourning and gnashing of teeth, and then I lugged all my crap onto the Metro and got myself down to Union Station, where everything went swimmingly until I accidentally made a left on K. Following which I shortly discovered First Street NW (as opposed to First Street NE, my destination), First Place, and First Terrace, because whoever designed this area of town was apparently either a sadist or an idiot.
I was the very last of the Washingtonians to make it to the bus, but I made it.
And now, my dear readers, I must shamefully break my promise from last week, when I promised that this week I would provide "my tips for making social theory more interesting, the REAL reason why I feel like it’s probably better for the universe if I don’t become an academic, and anything else that happens to pop into my mind at the moment." Um. One out of three isn't bad?
Next week, I swear, my lovelies! This post just turned out longer than I expected it to be, and I need to go hurry up and make the playbills for Canterville, and possibly do a bit of homework while I'm at it. Oh, Thanksgiving break. I miss you already.
[Original tags for this post:]
No comments:
Post a Comment