Your Heart Must Be Tired

I've spent the last few days listening to Sanders Bohlke's "Your Heart Must Be Tired" on repeat. I've been singing it, humming it, muttering it everywhere I go.

I think my heart must be tired.

Well, your eyes are weary
And your face is long
And so is the road
You've been travelin' along...

And when the rain starts pouring on
Your heavy heart is beating strong

Well, your faith, it is fragile
And your tears are all gone
Because you cried like somebody
Been loving you wrong
You've slept with lions
And weathered the storm

Oh, your heart must be tired
Because you've been crying too much

You've been crying too much

Just a note: these aren't the entire lyrics... just the ones I keep repeating.

Words, Words, and More Words

I have to write a majillion and one things in the next three weeks. Or the next two. I don't know anymore. There's too much to remember... and to write.

I'm beginning to have a strong dislike of words, which is not good, seeing as how I want to go into publishing.

Do you want to know what I'm up against? Do you?

Sept 29 -- Brit Lit paper (approximately 1600 words)
Oct 4 -- Literary Analysis for Young Adult Lit.
Oct 6 -- American Lit to 1865 essay
Oct 20 -- Modern American Lit essay

This list does not take into account midterms and other tests that fall in between the papers. For instance,

Sept 29 - American Lit to 1865 test
Oct 9 - Young Adult Lit midterm
Oct 10 - History of English Language test
Oct 17 - Brit Lit midterm

This does not take in to account all the readings that I have to do between each class. I will not list them because I do not wish to have a heart attack at such a young age.

I Want...

I want...

*grad school to be free to those that really, really want to go (i.e., me).

*kids to stop speaking up in class when they are accustomed to using words such as "like", "uh", "you know", etc. You sound dumb. I do not want to listen to dumb people. If I wanted to listen to dumb people, I would actively seek out dumb people.

*to make the best grades I can possibly make this semester.

*to survive this semester and the massive reading I have to do.

*to see people I don't get to se very often more often.

*to get into Emerson.

*to have pancakes or French toast for breakfast.

*to go to Boston over Spring Break!

*Britney Spears to bound and gag Kevin Federline. The man is everywhere. He sings. He acts. He produces offspring at an alarming rate. He needs to be stopped.

*people to have money for things that people desperately need.

*cold weather so I can wear my new peacoat!

*to see Zach Braff's new movie.

*my suite bathroom to magically clean itself over the weekend while I'm gone. I don't want to have to clean the darn thing again.

*Lindsay Lohan to wear underclothes. I am tired of seeing things that I'm not meant to see!

*someone to write my essay for me, so I don't have to write it! I'm lazy!

Hand in the Cookie Jar

There has been a reversal of roles this semester. Amanda, the ever diligent studier, is slacking off in her studying duties. Perhaps this is because she has been taking 18 hours a semester for the last 6 semesters. She is beaten, tired, and down-trodden. She has worked too much in this school businses. And now, she has started doing less and less work. She is no longer her workful self.

Usually, it is me that has problems with procrastination and not working in general. But this semester, I have really buckled down. I have stayed on top of all my readings, despite four literature classes. And I pray that I continue with this fervor.

Today, I told Amanda that she was not to be on the computer when I got home from work. She has four tests this week. She must study for these tests. And so, in addition, I told her that the only time she could play on her computer was during House. She was allowed a one hour break to watch House.

So, five minutes after House goes off, I bebop into her room. As I open the door, she quickly closes her laptop and jumps away from the computer --- like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar!!

The look on Amanda's face after she realized what she'd done... it was priceless. Just a truly hysterical situation. I'm still laughing.

Deep Thoughts

Ever read The Outsiders? The narrator is named Ponyboy Curtis. His parents named him that at birth. But what happens when Ponyboy becomes a man? Does his name change? Does he become Ponyman? Perhaps his parents should have named him Ponyguy to alleviate the confusion.

* * *
There are pictures of Suri Cruise. She looks exactly like Tom Cruise. I'm still not convinced that she's real. However, I'm not sure that Vanity Fair is in the practice of putting imagined images on their cover. And why would they devote 22 pages to the little tyke if she's not real? Have you seen the picture? She looks like she's wearing a wig! I've never seen a four-month-old with that much hair. Something still isn't right.

* * *
Fergie, I told you to stop making horrible music with your group, The Black-Eyed Peas. This does not give you permission to go off and create a solo album. For crying out loud, no one wants to hear you sing about obscene things. And by no one, I mean me. I speak for the world on this one.

Your damn "London Bridge" song is horrendous. It is worse than Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" (although, I'm still not sure what a "hollaback girl" is). I don't understand why you can't pick up some duct tape and tape your mouth shut. I mean, if you did that, we'd be forced to award you a Nobel Peace Prize. Think about it, Fergie. You'll be known forever as one of the few, the proud, the Nobel Peace Prize winners. As it stands right now, people are going to forget you and your crap songs. They're worthless, ugly, and incredibly idiotic. All of this equals forgotten!

* * *

A Ticket to Hell? No, Thanks. I've Already Purchased One....

So, it's offical. I am going to Hell. I am going to spend whatever afterlife there is burning in eternal damnation.

Why, might you ask? Why would someone as sweet and innocent as myself be doomed to a fiery existence?

Well, it's simple. I laughed hysterically for hours on end yesterday. And I'm still laughing.

I'm sure you're asking yourself what could be so hysterically funny to cause me to laugh myself into Hell. It's a very good question. One I am sure that I would ask, if I were you.

Steve Irwin died yesterday. The 'Crocodile Hunter' bit the dust. And not by a crocodile, surprisingly; I was sure that he was going to meet his death by some angry croc. Instead, he died in a "freak" accident: a sting-ray barbed him.

Apparently, sting-rays aren't aggressive. According to reports, Mr. Crocodile Hunter was "interacting" with the sting-ray when the animal used its defense mechanism and shot a pointy, poisoned barb into his chest.

Of course, this brings up a crazy question: How does one "interact" with a sting-ray? Was Irwin carrying on a conversation with the sting-ray? Were they on their way to some underwater, open-ocean market? Were they playing tag? Was Irwin hounding the sting-ray like the paparazzi hound stars of all shapes and sizes? And finally, the sting-ray just snapped like Cameron Diaz and flipped Irwin off?

Anyway, Irwin died.

And it is sad that he died, but I still laughed. I realize that laughing at someone's death is evil, but I'm telling you, he asked for it. He has aggravated animals for years! Those animals have been jumped on, poked, prodded, and harassed to the fullest extent. They've even had fresh baby meat dangled in front of them. In a word, they've been tortured. Mother Nature finally struck back.

She does this, when she gets all angry about things. It is best to leave Mother Nature the eff alone.