title??!! but I have to go eat lunch

Well, who is lacking luster now? I apologize for my failure to post during break, but the general scent in the air is that no one would be reading it, anyway.

I have dabbled in many activities during my three-week bout as a lazy loafer. (Or is it four? My but I'm enjoying the complete nonimportance of times and dates while one is on break...) If you want details and specifics, feel free to contact me. If you want to partake in some dabbling next week, my agenda, while not blank (my poor mother...), is ever open to new suggestions.

Last night I served at wedding for which the wedding cake was four different kinds of cheesecake. The host had over-provided in abundance, which resulted in many happy servers having a cheesecake-eating party in the pantry. I have decided that cheesecake as wedding cake is an excellent idea, and several types to choose from is all the more excellent. After all, as I told one of my fellow black-and-white clad plate collector/wine pourer/club soda finder/hors d'oerves ingredient explainer/etc.'s, who knows what mood you will be in when you get up on your wedding day? It is best to be prepared for all situations.

soooo....

...are you people not reading my blog because the posts of late have been too long for the speed-oriented Americans of this era? Or perchance because my new blog template is so disgusting you can't stand to look at it? Because I for one happen to like it better, or quite obviously I wouldn't have changed it.

Or perhaps, like me, you are far too busy with other things to bother to read a blog. Things like cramming for finals and having a nightmare twice in a row on the same night that you forgot to study for your Anthropology final. Things like reading about and writing about Emily Dickinson's poetry til it's coming out your ears (and yet somehow you are still not tired of reading her actual poetry, just books about it...) Things like going to Chicago to see Jet and Guster (and Gym Class Heroes, but they are not of paramount importance in the slightest) with Andrew, Jessica and Eleni (woot!!). Things like cleaning up your apartment and locking it up for three weeks with a sad sigh.

Is this the case, O devoted following? Because your devotion has of late lacked luster like an old silver candlestick someone forgot to polish...

what happens when I read bulletin boards...

Today was my last poetry class.

Before I slid my backpack across the table I always sit at, before I unwound my cashmere scarf, before I found my squished peanut butter sandwich under my poetry books, I read a flyer on the bulletin board across from the door of Heavilon 206.

A poetry reading by the seniors was proclaimed. The date looked remarkably familiar; it was the same one as was scrawled across the container of today's lemons in the vegetable fridge at work. The time was also suspiciously at home. It was the same as the one pencilled in beside "ENGL 237H" in my planner.

And so, as I gave my backpack a toss and unwound my scarf and searched for food, I told Chazz about the flyer and saw the same spark in her eye as I felt in mine. "Maybe we can..." "Maybe he'll let us..."

Punctually four minutes late, Professor Morris set down his diet Sprite and stack of books and papers. He expounded on specific directions for putting final papers and neat, final copies of journals in a box outside his office. He began to messify the stack of books and papers across his desk as he began to speak of the poems listed for today's discussion.

I raised my hand unabashedly to the ceiling.

He was still spreading things around and did not see me. Jason laughed because he knew what I was going to say. I gave up on grade school courtesy and said, "Excuse me?"

I used a lot of qualifiers. I said "maybe we could" and "part of class" and "I think room 320."

"Well, class, would you like to spend our whole class there." He had forgotten to use a question mark and he was already closing his books and standing up.

The room was cramped and the seniors' eyes widened as we overflowed into it, ten minutes late. The bearded student at the front of the room paused but continued. I crammed into a corner on the floor and listened, for nearly an hour, as words in beautiful arrangements and some not so beautiful flowed out of eager and nervous and proud mouths.

Afterwards I leaned against the railing in the sunniest stairwell on campus (tell me again why don't people like Heavilon?), my finger dialing Eleni, my eyes looking through Wetherill at something no one will ever see, my thoughts wondering...what can I do with words? Can I manipulate them the way I manipulate people?





Dude, I dig poetry class.

paradoxi

Things are winding with an ever-increasing velocity to what will be a sudden stop the second my last final paper is turned in on Thursday. (Or shall I be an overachiever and turn it on Wednesday?) It's that wonderful horrible time of the semester, when I am lackadaisically diligent.

I say lackadaisical because some things just don't seem that important any more. I know I get to drop my worst French test grade, and none of them are bad thus far, so I studied with a happy sort of ease and gave up as soon as a better diversion presented itself (in that particular case, I think it was the allure of my nice cozy bed that made me put away my books.) I am even lackadaisically half-planning to skip a class tomorrow. It's a review session that I don't really feel like going to, and I have better things to be doing anyway.

This brings us to the diligent part. My life is run by my to-do list more than ever this week. The number of pages I need to have studied, glanced at or written is larger than it has been all semester. But somehow, my drive only flourishes in times like these.

That is not to say I am not looking forward to a break, because it will be nice. Ten days to go!!!