January 25, 2007

Randomness and a story

I need to start writing in this thing more regularly again. I've been starting to internalize more and more again, and that just doesn't work too well for me. I just feel a lot better when I'm writing things regularly, even if they're random. I'm writing letters pretty consistently, but I need this too I think.

This semester's going okay so far. On the down side, I'm taking eighteen hours, and my classes all seem kind of intense, and I'm also going to be working. That's the sucky part. The up side is, I actually like about 75% of my classes - they seem really interesting. I'm rediscovering my passion for English, I think, in one or two of my English classes, and I'm even liking the math class I'm taking, despite being the only English major in there. ("What's everybody's majors?" "Mechanical Engineering." "Chemistry." "Mechanical engineering." "Physics." Me: "English and secondary education." Confused looks ensue). And I'm actually starting to feel kind of, well...educated. What? You say that was the purpose of this whole crazy college thing?

Also, now I have a laptop! Which is pretty exciting. I'm really enjoying the sudden freedom I have to move around with this computer. Plus it's just generally awesome.

Anyway...that's all I really feel like writing at the moment, but I'm going to try and start writing more regularly. Not that you care - I don't even know if anyone really reads this anymore - but it helps me, so...your mom. Yeah that didn't make any sense. Well your mom doesn't make any sense either. See, that one made sense! So I get one out of two, so that means I'm half...erm...crazy. Whoops.

Maybe this is why I haven't written much lately....

I end with a story I found in my old diarlyand site that Nicole and I wrote in AP Economics senior year of high school. It made me laugh.

There was a full moon on that cold All Hallow's Eve. A chill mist enveloped the graveyard, creating shadows evocative of creatures of the night. All was still, except for at a single tombstone. At the tombstone of Mr. Dumpty, deceased two months ago from a tragic fall, the ground began to shift.

The shattered remains of an egg, having painstakingly reconstructed themselves, clawed their way out of Humpty's forgotten grave.

Humpty emerged from his grave with but one thought in his mind: revenge. The maker of that wall was going to pay.

Humpty made his slow, stumbling course (as his legs were missing shards of eggshell) towards the wall.

Unfortunately, since he was now hollow, a gust of wind easily blew him backwards. Soon, he found himself in Canada.

He groaned out and hobbled into the street where he was prompty hit by a car and shattered. Again. The end.

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