Summer fast approaching
Apr. 18th, 2004 07:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kjpepperLooks like it's going to be another one of those New England springs. You know, where it's still cold and there's still a chance of snow up until mid-April and then suddenly it's in the high seventies, humid, and suddenly all the trees and bushes are pregnant with allergens, the air is thick with little birds, and the peeper frogs go go go all day and all night.
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sundart and I spent the afternoon in the student center whilst I slaved on homework and wrote a bit on the side so that a few characters would leave me the hell alone. Decided that I need to start drinking coffee black, so I'm weaning myself off of the cream and sugar, starting with the sugar. Discovering that coffee kinda tastes like hot beer with just cream, and that it's not half bad by the time you get all the way through it. The student center was close and that special greenhousey sort of hot that just has you promptly marinating in your own sweat without doing a thing. An acapella group was performing down the hall, strains of thin soprano and alto voices in harmony drifted to my ears. Very surreal, they were doing Missy Elliott's "One Minute Man." Fairly well by the sound of it. Dunno, I tend to like men's acapella and barbershop quartets better that women's acapella, with the exception of Femme M'Amie. I strongly suspect this is because they're composed of older women with richer voices and a better spread across the soprano and alto ranges, and they got together for the music, not picked as part of a yearly popularity contest with singing. Or maybe I'm just bitter because I tried out for almost every single one of them first year and got cut. Failure, failure, rejection, rejection, you stink! Woe is me, Vibes and Crapapella weren't in existence yet and by the time they were I was too disillusioned with the whole acapella group thing to try out.
Came back around fiveish, walking back home withsundart in the heavy humid air. I was tired and sad, singing the first few bars of Toby Keith's "I Should Have Been a Cowboy" on the way - it fit my range, and my mood. Talked to sundart about how the budding spring and the warmer weather has never held any joy for me, as they have been harbingers of allergies and three month stretches of palpable loneliness and isolation of some sort or another, mosquitoes, sweat... waiting waiting for the cooler breezes and rejuvination of the fall. The only good things about summer are the lushness of the greenery everywhere, a recently discovered thrill, and the fireflies, but of course people use so many pesticides on their lawns these days that the lightning bugs never have a chance. And I can do without foliage, really, except for the fact that there must be green in order for there to be red, orange and yellow later. Oh. And I love thunderstorms. Last year we got a "bad" one every Friday at 4pm. I kid you not. Other than that... summer is usually a wash.
Sigh. I'm depressed as fuck, and I still have a ton of work to do. My period is due in two days, I suspect that's a big part of it, but I'm also so friggin' tired... I want to sleep for two weeks and wake up alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic and ready for the Next Big Thing. At least in all of this I'm writing again.
sundart and I spent the afternoon in the student center whilst I slaved on homework and wrote a bit on the side so that a few characters would leave me the hell alone. Decided that I need to start drinking coffee black, so I'm weaning myself off of the cream and sugar, starting with the sugar. Discovering that coffee kinda tastes like hot beer with just cream, and that it's not half bad by the time you get all the way through it. The student center was close and that special greenhousey sort of hot that just has you promptly marinating in your own sweat without doing a thing. An acapella group was performing down the hall, strains of thin soprano and alto voices in harmony drifted to my ears. Very surreal, they were doing Missy Elliott's "One Minute Man." Fairly well by the sound of it. Dunno, I tend to like men's acapella and barbershop quartets better that women's acapella, with the exception of Femme M'Amie. I strongly suspect this is because they're composed of older women with richer voices and a better spread across the soprano and alto ranges, and they got together for the music, not picked as part of a yearly popularity contest with singing. Or maybe I'm just bitter because I tried out for almost every single one of them first year and got cut. Failure, failure, rejection, rejection, you stink! Woe is me, Vibes and Crapapella weren't in existence yet and by the time they were I was too disillusioned with the whole acapella group thing to try out.Came back around fiveish, walking back home with
sundart in the heavy humid air. I was tired and sad, singing the first few bars of Toby Keith's "I Should Have Been a Cowboy" on the way - it fit my range, and my mood. Talked to sundart about how the budding spring and the warmer weather has never held any joy for me, as they have been harbingers of allergies and three month stretches of palpable loneliness and isolation of some sort or another, mosquitoes, sweat... waiting waiting for the cooler breezes and rejuvination of the fall. The only good things about summer are the lushness of the greenery everywhere, a recently discovered thrill, and the fireflies, but of course people use so many pesticides on their lawns these days that the lightning bugs never have a chance. And I can do without foliage, really, except for the fact that there must be green in order for there to be red, orange and yellow later. Oh. And I love thunderstorms. Last year we got a "bad" one every Friday at 4pm. I kid you not. Other than that... summer is usually a wash.Sigh. I'm depressed as fuck, and I still have a ton of work to do. My period is due in two days, I suspect that's a big part of it, but I'm also so friggin' tired... I want to sleep for two weeks and wake up alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic and ready for the Next Big Thing. At least in all of this I'm writing again.
