now, what I want is facts.

Aside from the fact that Ren's been talking in a quasi-Irish/New York accent for the last hour, and this post, and the completely magical moment where we pinky-promised at the exact same time (that's a jinx I just don't know how to deal with), I really love her most for this:

E: "I'm supposed to be reading Dickens right now."

R: "Oh, what one?"

E: "Hard Times. All of it."

R: "Right. So basically it's like the something-hundreds and everyone's going through hard times because life is hard, you know. But they all have their hard times separately, but intertwined, like a net together. And some of them persevere but some of them just give up, probably. And there's probably someone named Clive, or Tiny Tim. Hard Times applies every time you're having hard times, which is a lot times. Today I had hard times. Yesterday I had hard times. Tomorrow I'll have hard times. So the moral of the story is, when you have hard times, it's important to read Dickens' book called Hard Times because it makes us realise that at least we aren't wearing funny clothes or eating hard bread and also it's important to know that it's called hard times for these times, and it aims to highlight the social and economic pressures that some people were experiencing, unlike some other novels of the time. It's unique because it's not set in London. He's also satiring, so you know that's going to be good. Especially since the first book is called Sowing. Which is symbolic, because you know, The Sow and the Wing. And you reap what you sow. And it's important to sow good works or else you'll have hard times."

(pause)

R: "I've never read it."

pretty person of the year award

I woke up to waffles this morning.
And a packed lunch by the door.

Along with a note full of love + encouragement.

I do not deserve people like this in my life, much less roommates.

(but I'm so dearly glad to have you, all the same)

Liz, I adore you.

they build buildings so tall these days

Have we talked about how much I love my brother? Probably not enough. ONE, he's a total stud. All that athletic ability so innate to both mum+dad skipped straight to him, and he routinely returns victorious from various fields and courts and competitions. TWO, he's also super heartthrob material. There's that smile, of course, but he's also got the personality to match, all charisma and the most sincere sensitivity to all those around him. Then, to top this all off (THREE), he whips out his art skillz. I know, right?

I found this little corner of a sketch on the round table when I was home this weekend, and it turns out it was pretty prophetic, too. Monday? Beautiful. Skipping through fields of wildflowers. Tuesday? A long and tiring hike across clifftops, but worth the view. Wednesday? Should've known there'd be a shark behind my shoulder.

I am now going to listen to This Song is Actually Called Happiness a few more times and then maybe cry myself to sleep.

Okay. So maybe it's not that bad. But I do feel like throwing things at walls.

good ideas:

O Valencia! at maximum volume.

Boys with messenger bags.

M+M brownies.

and

(maybe, possibly, the jury's still out)
sleep.

just keep your head and play it as it plays

I spent the last weekend in Salt Lake, where I received continually strange and stranger texts from my apartment back in Provo. I mean, what do argyle socks have to do with my typical Saturday? Turns out my roommates were at new heights of awesomeness (which, come to think of it, isn't all that unusual) and had composed an incredibly precise, all-comprehensive, four-page Dating Application for us single ladies in s204. I immediately took it to press, prettied up the layout (I love you, Century Gothic), printed two dozen and hung a sign in the window: Apply Within.

Thing is, it worked. Wait, present tense: it's working.

Not only have we had four six replies already and another ten expected to be returned within the week, but these boys are proving their worth---when you get the hometown/major questions out of the way, you seriously get to the heart of things. Noteworthy:

::: two applicants speak Latvian. Anyone else just love that this place even exists*?
::: California, however, is really not a country. Just . . . no.
::: Mr. Darcy > everyone else. Excellent essay, if you ask me.
::: Gary Larsen, favorite artist? I'll have to think about that. But Simon Dewey? Nix.
and
::: I am America and So Can You? Yes. Duck Hunting? No. Sigh. You win some, you lose some.

Acceptance letters should be filed by Friday and, as we here at s204 work with Rolling Admissions, will continue through the end of semester. Interested? Intrigued? Comment. Email. You know where to find me and we look forward to the review---though if you can hum that post title, don't bother. You're in.

*Except, of course, in Italy. Sorry, Kimberly.

walk two moons

I wore Ren's shoes to school today, a combination of necessity and comfort because a) I woke up way too late to be running to class in my usual heels and b) I had two, two-hour midterms in a row this afternoon and Chucks seemed like a good idea---especially green, embroidered ones like Ren's. Still, not that big of a deal, right? Wrong.

I was confused all day. The shoes are so entirely Ren that I had a hard time understanding that they were on my feet. I would literally look down and reevaluate exactly who I thought I was. It was an incredibly taxing psychological experiment, to say the least, and then people had to go and confuse me even more, saying Hi and What's up and How are you doing as if they knew me (they didn't). This happened at least twelve times, and I would like to say that this is simply because I do try to smile and be approachable but today wasn't exactly a stellar sort of E day, and I made no effort whatsoever to even make eye contact. And after conjugating heißen half a dozen different ways and explicating elements of Orientalism in Keats, I wasn't smiling, either.

Weird, weird day.