I think there's an resonating frequency for every part of the thinking day, which when discovered can cause unexpected effects. Colours in the air,
nausea,
oscillation out of control. I've hit on mine accidentally for right now, and it's
mix tapes. Mix.. tapes. I am grooving in my chair and counting the hours until I get home to bust out the
minidiscs, an activity that hasn't crossed my mind in months.
School is long and lots, but I think the worst part has been being lonely. I spent this weekend with one family (mine) after another (his) and realized how strange it seemed, to get to be around people. I should call a meet or something, or go walk my imaginary dog, or what.
I hate shopping for bras. There is, doubtless, some arcane code page somewhere explaining the sizes and how they relate to actual human bodies in a way which doesn't involve calipers or divinely inspired meditation, but I haven't hit upon it yet. It would be, naturally, too much to ask that there be a measuring tape anywhere within 3 miles of Sears. 2.5 hours later, I emerge, shaken, with two expensive pieces of articulated clothing, looking alien even to I who have been eyeing them and their kin for hours on end. Floral print flying buttresses. When I get home, the weird-out has passed and I put one on. Ahh. Worth it.
I am beginning to develop a spring fever for moving again. I'll be moving anyhow in less than 3 months, but it's getting so hard to defer myself from combing the classifieds, visiting IKEA, and trying to guess if the cats AND my perishables can safely be transported in one trip, a kind of "fox, hen, grain, and farmer must cross the river in a small rowboat" puzzle that doesn't really need to be solved.