Today I got hit in the face with a slushball. By a tree. It wasn’t even a person throwing it. I feel like I could be at peace with this if it had been an actual person. Like, “Wow, so there’s this asshole running around throwing slushballs at people indiscriminately. I hope your favorite show gets canceled, you piece of shit.” And then I could move on. But no. It was a tree, and that felt personal. It was like the universe zeroed in on me, wound up, and let fly, delivering a cold pile of soggy foreshadowing right in my face just to let me know who’s in charge and exactly how the rest of my week is going to go.
But you CAN’T GET ME DOWN, UNIVERSE. My spring break technically starts TONIGHT, after my four o’clock class. I’m scooting over to my grandparents’ place for the night, and then home, where I will be LAZY and INEFFECTIVE for the next week and a half. GET EXCITED. One more dawn! One more day! Ooooone… daaaaaay… more! *revolution music*
I am so tired. So. Tired. I feel like there are people inside my head just banging on things with hammers. If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know that last night I made a pact with everyone that I would not go to bed until I had finished writing my eight-page paper, and things started to get weird.
Around 11:30, there was the great Michigan Internet snafu, wherein everybody’s Internet just went down for no reason. It felt like being cut off from the world. I was convinced I was being punished for something in a manner befitting my crime, which was apparently of the highest caliber, because cutting off my Internet mid-essay was like cutting off my arm. Those brief Tumblr breaks were ALL I HAD. DO YOU HEAR ME? They were my everything.
Around 2 in the morning, I finished the essay, but I was also dancing a little bit and headbanging to Sheila E., so I channeled all that energy into doing more homework, which is a decision I have never made before in my entire life. At 4 in the morning, I went to bed, which wreaked havoc on my life when I had to get up a few hours later. I crawled into the dining hall and was immediately yelled at (okay, okay, sternly admonished) for not using a pair of tongs to grab my muffin. The last muffin. I was not contaminating the other muffins. Because there were no other muffins. And if there had been I wasn’t going to touch them all before choosing the one that felt right.
But I SURVIVED. Albeit in a wide-eyed, shell-shocked, why-did-I-just-do-that way.
Today it rained, and I was not thrilled about it. But I donned my boots and raincoat, and grabbed my umbrella, and I went to class like a trooper.
Sometime during the hour and a half that I was learning about fish biology, the snow began. And the snow continued. And the snow did not cease.
I need to set the scene a little. The building that my lecture hall is in contains only one hallway. On one side is the classrooms. On the other is a wall made entirely of glass. So that entire side is just a window. Now, our professor had let us out ten minutes early, so we all came bursting out of the lecture hall in high spirits. Until, of course, we caught sight of the whitewashed world of rainstorm turned blizzard, and through the sudden silence you could just barely hear a hushed voice from within the crowd: “Holy shit…”
I swear all one hundred of us—the only ones who had bothered to come to class in the first place—just stood there with our mouths open. If any of us had been the intelligent sort (you know, the kind of person who checks the weather and then dresses accordingly), this probably could’ve been avoided. But that just wasn’t us. And this was a problem. We all just milled about in the hallway for a solid five minutes, hovering, unwilling to go outside because, hell, we just weren’t dressed for it. I was dressed for rain. Sideways rain at the most.
I walked until I wasn’t even fully aware of myself as a person anymore. And now I just really want some hot soup.
My power went out this morning. I was going to use that as an excuse for why I was running late to class, but let’s face it, I would’ve been running late anyway. This is because I spend a solid 40% of my time running late to something. I live in a constant state of tardiness. That, combined with how late I stayed up after the Oscars, resulted in me rolling out of bed half an hour late with an almighty “unnnggg.”
My hall mate right next door has the same 10 am class as me. It’s funny because I always see her trooping off to class about twenty minutes before I’ve even mobilized past the bathroom stage of my morning. That’s the initial look-in-the-mirror-and-assess-the-damage stage. So you can assume (correctly) that she gets to settle into a really good seat at a leisurely pace, whereas I usually sidle in with one minute before class starts and snag a seat so far in the back I have to cup my hand and shout my answers when called on.
That said, I was happy with the awards last night. I feel like everybody got a little something, and I did love Argo. It’s also been confirmed that Daniel Day-Lewis is one of my favorite people ever. Loved his Margaret Thatcher joke.
That’s the upside. The downside is that I ate too many cookies, and now I feel scary full and also somewhat ashamed.
I realize it’s almost midnight and I still haven’t posted anything. I was waiting for the Oscars to finish! So far, I’m ALL OVER the JGL/Dan-Rad dance, the Les Mis ensemble cast song (AND DID YOU SEE THE WAY AARON TVEIT OWNED THAT STAGE WHEN HE WALKED ON), and Jennifer Lawrence. I am less than thrilled with the Seth MacFarlane and would like the echo a previous sentiment that Amy and Tina host everything from now on and forever.
It’s the Oscars tomorrow! It’s the Oscars tomorrow! I’ve planned my snacks accordingly. For the Red Carpet, there will be noodles. For the actual awards show, there will be cookies. And there will be a Crunch bar for sad occasions, like if one of my favorites loses, or if Aaron Tveit is onscreen and I somehow miss him.
I don’t actually plan on watching the entire Red Carpet event. As I’ve surely overemphasized by now, I have midterms going on. I’m sort of on the “just one misstep and this entire thing will fall apart” side of overwhelmed. So I don’t plan on watching the entire thing, because that’s like four hours of my life that could be spent crying in the corner somewhere about ambition. But in all likelihood, I will watch far more Red Carpet coverage than I had bargained for. That’s just what happens.
I’m really pulling for Daniel Day-Lewis. Can Emmanuelle Riva and Quvenzhané Wallis both win the Oscar? Wouldn’t that be special? As far as costume design goes, Les Mis was like nineteenth-century French costume porn. But for make-up, I’ve got to go all in for The Hobbit. They deserved more nominations than they got.
There’s my two cents. I know that my opinions are invaluable to the film industry. Either way, it’ll be fun to see the LES MIS CAST FREAKING PERFORM. They are all in LA, right now, as we speak, rehearsing. Amanda Seyfried posted a picture on Twitter of Aaron and Eddie. Aaron was wearing that weird jean jacket shirt thing he was wearing when I dragged Tara down to the level of my Aaron Tveit obsession, the one that shouldn’t work but somehow does. It’s going to be so weird seeing him singing Enjolras’ part, but as Aaron, sans wig. I still find it really hard to reconcile the two of them in my mind as being the same person. But I’ll deal, because AHHHHH.
Do you ever hit that point in writing an essay where you’re ALMOST DONE… you’re in the homestretch, you can see the finish line… and you just can’t crank out any more coherent sentences?
I’m writing this essay on women in the Middle Ages, and I’ve got one more body paragraph to go as well as the conclusion. The paragraph, however, is an undignified mess of sloppy ideas that a five-year-old could have written with better clarity, and the conclusion doesn’t even exist. The conclusion is just a space at the end where I wrote [CONCLUSION] and trusted my future self to come up with something brilliant.
But it’s 11:20 pm, and I’ve clocked out for the night. Basically, around 6 I decided to start just dicking around until I could reasonably say, “Ah, well, it’s too late now; I can’t possibly write anything good at this hour.” This essentially means I was dicking around for about five hours while writing the occasional sentence that I immediately backspaced. This essay is due tomorrow at midnight, so I have time, but I also have a persistent knack for making things harder than they need to be. So, things are going to start getting really, really interesting around 11.