So lately I have been blogging in invisible font. Thought I'd try it out for bit, like HP's invisiquill. I could also have made that up. Which one is up to you. Pick a door, any door.

In good news this week, so far I have:

a. finished a 2500 word essay on Gogol's Mirgorod

b. gotten to read Gogol for my first primary tut!

c. purchased sequined heels to impersonate Joan Jett at Entz(short for entertainment. Like the HOP? kind of? except they throw parties at the JCR bar and let us wear costumes, etc.)

d. worn a dress, twice

e. gone to awesome lectures

Bad news:

a. I now have to read this essay aloud tomorrow to man who I have never met and it is semi-sucko

b. finished gogol, and now must concentrate on reading things in middle english. cool, but also time consuming

c. need to get cheap-o leather pants/leggings for said costume; not sure leather is for me

d. wore black pants today and now there is some weird fuzz on them that I do not recognize from today's activities. at all

e. have woken up at 8 every morning. so long, dream of sleep and un-zombieness

Went to the language center on Tues. to sign up for Russian, which is from 9-11 every wednesday. And the place is 3481234342348203.2 kilometers away, so I have to wake up at 7:15 in order to grab coffee on the way there. Otherwise, no point in even showing up, unless it's to the morgue.

On way there got a coffee like beverage in disguise as coffee: the dreaded coffee water. Says its coffee, looks like coffee, tastes like milky water.

Also went in search of book at music library, accidentally went in wrong door, and discovered this museum of old instruments. They have Handel's first harpsichord. Scccore. Also was assisted by the first scottish hippie I've ever run across in the libs.

Was also kicked out of Hall for getting there at 7:15, when dinner starts at 7:15. Yeah.

Hate the spotty internet re: hard to talk on skype and there are many reasons why it is very necessary to do this. Am going to shower now and contemplate why some things in life must be way harder than others.

And, from the book I'm reading now, leave you with this:

They believed that remembering someone could bring them back to you long after they had departed, if you only concentrated hard enough, if you stood outside on a windy night and tried to count every star sprinkled across the universe like rice on a table or stones in a lake, like bones in a body or snowdrops in the grass.