Hannah Unterschultz x Lyndsay Gundesen
=
Mimi (who is promiscuous and has a very large body mass:foot ratio thanks to Hannah)
x Carlos x Josh
= Glinda = Guinevere
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Vous etes le seule que j'ai jamais voulais
Sometimes, I am not fun.
I try to make up for it with sunflower kisses.
It may not be enough.
I try to make up for it with sunflower kisses.
It may not be enough.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Un chanson d'ukelele
Yes, I am alive. Very much so. However, so many things are going on now that blogging has slipped from a conscious, mind-relieving habit to a chore. There is always something I should be doing now, and I think we all forget about these things during our lovely and lustrous days of summer. That must be why it always comes to surprise me that I don't actually have time to sit and read a book or even go for a run with my father.
Yes, world, I am back. Or rather, you are back, to cause me immense dementia and lapses of judgment. Why doesn't judgment have another 'e'? It should have another 'e'. Everything is wrong there. Some things are wrong here. But overall I think they're okay. But I haven't had time to really think about the state of them (things), so maybe they're not okay. But does it really matter?
Dancing feels good to my sore body, and musical theatre feels good to my fading social skills and excitement factor, my boyfriend feels good to my needs for being kept warm, and Belgian chocolates and chai tea feel good for about everything, a master remedy, if you will. Math makes my head hurt and Social exhausts me and Music History threatens to swamp me. I like Biology. I wish I wasn't so squeamish, or else I would maybe have the potential to get a real job in some sort of Biology field.
I wish I had a sense of adventure, or the willingness to release myself to others judgments (there's that word again) without feeling inadequate. I wish I was like Hannah.
I wish I could talk to my friends for long periods of time again. Rachel, I was going to see you today, and we could've rounded Allison up too, but swear to FSM after my rainy run this morning I don't think I can move anymore. Numbers and transformations and reflections weigh me down. And I don't have fat shoulders, unlike some. So it can't just be me.
I want a muffin.
You'll have to do.
I'm also rhyming a lot lately. What's up with that, anyways?
(There was a girl, named Alicellen
Who took far too much penicillin
She got sick,
Very quick
Now no more Alicellen.)
Let's burn some bras.
(Katie McLean, I love you. Don't quit on us, please. We need you, regardless of the craziness and unjustness of castings.)
Yes, world, I am back. Or rather, you are back, to cause me immense dementia and lapses of judgment. Why doesn't judgment have another 'e'? It should have another 'e'. Everything is wrong there. Some things are wrong here. But overall I think they're okay. But I haven't had time to really think about the state of them (things), so maybe they're not okay. But does it really matter?
I wish I had a sense of adventure, or the willingness to release myself to others judgments (there's that word again) without feeling inadequate. I wish I was like Hannah.
I wish I could talk to my friends for long periods of time again. Rachel, I was going to see you today, and we could've rounded Allison up too, but swear to FSM after my rainy run this morning I don't think I can move anymore. Numbers and transformations and reflections weigh me down. And I don't have fat shoulders, unlike some. So it can't just be me.
I want a muffin.
You'll have to do.
I'm also rhyming a lot lately. What's up with that, anyways?
(There was a girl, named Alicellen
Who took far too much penicillin
She got sick,
Very quick
Now no more Alicellen.)
Let's burn some bras.
(Katie McLean, I love you. Don't quit on us, please. We need you, regardless of the craziness and unjustness of castings.)
Sunday, September 05, 2010
Je suis un colibri perdu
I like that. 'Colibri'.
Colibricolibricolibricolibricolibri.
Colibricolibricolibricolibricolibri.
Colibricolibricolibricolibricolibri.
Colibricolibricolibricolibricolibri.
Colibricolibricolibricolibricolibri.
Evenings.
J'ai aucun mot pour cette fatigue, cette intrigue
I'm not sure how I feel about September.
When people hear words, or see pictures, or hear a certain song on the radio, as humans our minds make thousands and thousands of subconscious and conscious references, connections, associations and junctions. Our brains are smarter than we are. We process the information and unconsciously select the key information and/or memories that will identify to us the certain feeling, sentiment, or word we need to describe, analyze, and reference that enzymatic word, image, or sound.
To me, September is backwards. You see, I of course have no experience with anyone else's brain, but my brain associates everything to everything else so quickly and randomly and inexplicably, that half the time what I say or think of in association to a certain idea makes little to no sense. That is why people think I'm strange. But that doesn't matter. What I'm trying to make you understand is that a lot of different words (namely, pretty much all of them) actually bring out a very specific feeling, not in my mind but on my skin, as in a can actually reach out and touch the way that a sentence or proper noun will make me react and feel. I am a very kinesthetic person in regards to this, and I don't quite understand why. I think this is what makes me such a volatile, moody person as well...so many things influence my very physical condition that I am always changing and altering my mood subconsciously. Anyways.
All of the month names also make me feel certain ways.
When someone says January, I immediately shiver and my toes get cold flashes and I seem to close up into myself a little. I don't like January, it makes me feel lonely.
February makes me think of pink snow. I don't know how I feel about pink snow, except that my fingers buzz, but I am not as strongly opposed to February as January, I think.
March makes me think of green things, naturally, except because March is a) still freezing cold in Calgary, and b) the longest month to me (before April, and I have to wait until the very end for spring break), March makes me tired and it exhausts me to think about it.
April is such a nice word. Maybe it's because it's my birthday month. But even though it, too, is generally still bitterly cold, I guess some sort of bizarre hope is instilled in me for better times and better weathers. April makes me feel light and it makes my fingers feel long.
...and so on. I won't make you suffer through any more of that, except to note that September is backwards for me. I love the word September. In my mind it seems crisp and sunny and it tastes like lemon popsicles. It makes me excited, and it makes me feel forgiving and my body feels content.
But I hate September. It always comes too soon, it's always colder than it should be, and I always feel like I'm caught in some bus wheels or something and that I'm being dragged around, never quite catching up to whatever it is I'm supposed to catch.
My mind loathes September. My body loves it.
I'm going for my run now, even though it is cold and every little fiber of my being is telling me otherwise. I don't feel happy even though I had a waffle for breakfast and snuggled up in my bed to read my book afterwards. I feel cold, and tired, and lonely.
fly, fly, fly, away...
When people hear words, or see pictures, or hear a certain song on the radio, as humans our minds make thousands and thousands of subconscious and conscious references, connections, associations and junctions. Our brains are smarter than we are. We process the information and unconsciously select the key information and/or memories that will identify to us the certain feeling, sentiment, or word we need to describe, analyze, and reference that enzymatic word, image, or sound.
To me, September is backwards. You see, I of course have no experience with anyone else's brain, but my brain associates everything to everything else so quickly and randomly and inexplicably, that half the time what I say or think of in association to a certain idea makes little to no sense. That is why people think I'm strange. But that doesn't matter. What I'm trying to make you understand is that a lot of different words (namely, pretty much all of them) actually bring out a very specific feeling, not in my mind but on my skin, as in a can actually reach out and touch the way that a sentence or proper noun will make me react and feel. I am a very kinesthetic person in regards to this, and I don't quite understand why. I think this is what makes me such a volatile, moody person as well...so many things influence my very physical condition that I am always changing and altering my mood subconsciously. Anyways.
All of the month names also make me feel certain ways.
When someone says January, I immediately shiver and my toes get cold flashes and I seem to close up into myself a little. I don't like January, it makes me feel lonely.
February makes me think of pink snow. I don't know how I feel about pink snow, except that my fingers buzz, but I am not as strongly opposed to February as January, I think.
March makes me think of green things, naturally, except because March is a) still freezing cold in Calgary, and b) the longest month to me (before April, and I have to wait until the very end for spring break), March makes me tired and it exhausts me to think about it.
April is such a nice word. Maybe it's because it's my birthday month. But even though it, too, is generally still bitterly cold, I guess some sort of bizarre hope is instilled in me for better times and better weathers. April makes me feel light and it makes my fingers feel long.
...and so on. I won't make you suffer through any more of that, except to note that September is backwards for me. I love the word September. In my mind it seems crisp and sunny and it tastes like lemon popsicles. It makes me excited, and it makes me feel forgiving and my body feels content.
But I hate September. It always comes too soon, it's always colder than it should be, and I always feel like I'm caught in some bus wheels or something and that I'm being dragged around, never quite catching up to whatever it is I'm supposed to catch.
My mind loathes September. My body loves it.
I'm going for my run now, even though it is cold and every little fiber of my being is telling me otherwise. I don't feel happy even though I had a waffle for breakfast and snuggled up in my bed to read my book afterwards. I feel cold, and tired, and lonely.
fly, fly, fly, away...
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