After a year of trying to get hooked on Desperate Housewives but failing to remember TV goes on on Sunday nights and weeks of sitting on the last two episodes, I am at last fully obsessed. Yeah, just about all the secrets and surprises had been spoiled for me before my Housewives/Grey’s Anatomy marathon that kept me up until 4:30am last night, but I still had my fair share of gasps and giggles. Yes, I knew Rex would die, but Bree’s absurd coping mechanism and eventual breakdown made me cry; yes, I knew Mike was Zana’s father, but that’s still one hell of a cliffhanger.
So I watched the pilot and the finale and possibly four episodes in between; I have the summer to catch up on, and all this to look forward to in the fall:
- Alfre Woodard! She’s amazing, and lookin’ good.
- Executive Lynette!
- Rex isn’t dead until I see the body. Not’uh.
Mmmright, and other things. I don’t know how to make my summers notlame.
At last! A half-decent layout on my very own blog. The site’s starting to come together. If only I had anything to say…
And it certainly would not have happened tonight were it not for the fact that I’m trying valiantly to stay up until 5am. For you see, tomorrow night I work 10pm-5am, and I can’t think of any other way to adjust to a proper sleep/work schedule. But all-nighters are excruciating when you’re not specifically avoiding doing another thing.
Well, at 4am, it should be safe to fall asleep any time now. So I think I will watch last Sunday’s Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy until I pass out.
After nearly a week, I’m more or less moved into my room here at home. It’s at most half the size of my dorm room (I can’t say ‘the size my dorm room was’ yet), which is sad. But it’ll do.
I do have a few demands, of course, if I’m going to survive a full year in this place. First order of business was purchasing a new bookshelf, which I’ve already filled:
My collection is modest, but it’s already stretching the room beyond its means.
I’m going to try to get rid of one of my dressers to make room for a proper desk and a third bookshelf (priorities), because for now I’ve got my computer rather inaccessibly perched atop my other dresser, like so:
Note also that I’ve removed the top two drawers to make room for my keyboard and DVD player. That’s the kind of ingenuity that only comes with a BA, friends.
Here’s the whole room, such as it is:
And my major project of the summer: I’m taking four years of notes, handouts, papers and photocopied chapters, and meticulously categorizing and filing them in pretty manila folders alongside related books. So again you see my dire need of more shelving units, for if I could stack all this up, it would be taller than I am:
And I’m trading in posters for art prints, but that’s another story that will keep until I have more than $2 and change to my name.
I should write something about the end of undergraduate life, and what it’s been like this past week. I should have been writing all along for this past year; I realize I have lost these feelings, but I don’t think words could have captured them anyhow. I can’t explain it to anyone else. I won’t understand it myself, soon.
I’m really not being morose about it, but the fact is every song I’ve ever loved has some connection to Marietta, and when ‘These Eyes’ follows the Doobie Bros’ ‘Black Water,’ how am I supposed to feel? And honestly, I don’t want to find new music, alone and unconnected.
I’m also terrified by how quickly my love fades with distance… Not Lani and Josh (never Lani and Josh), but other once-consuming loves, and others that could have been (though in no scenario would I have wished them into reality; still there is a sense of missed opportunity) — with distance and silence goes all my passion. And I can’t even find it terribly upsetting…
Days are mundane, but varied at least. Job is boring, but lucrative. I’m tired, but busy. And I still haven’t had a good cry over anything.
How to recall such music, when the street
Darkens? Among the rain and stone places
I find only an ancient sadness falling,
Only hurrying and troubled faces,
The walking of girls’ vulnerable feet,
The heart in its own endless silence kneeling.
Phillip Larkin ‘The North Ship (ix),’ 1945.
Spontaneously drove to the edge of Ohio for a library book sale — sadly, I spent more on gas than books, and there were no more than 2 boxes worth of literature anyhow, but at least I didn’t have to put down any lovelies I even passingly desired… So $7 gets me:
A Treasury of Russian Literature The biggest hole in my literary education, and I’ve only heard of six of these guys… so, awesome.
English Romantic Poets This one makes me pretty hot. All you might expect, plus letters, oh! *fans self*
The Book of Living Verse: (Limited to the chief poets) What a snobbyass title. But so pretty.
The Complete Plays of Christopher Marlowe Well, honestly.
Eleanor: The Years Alone Man, I wish I still had my NAW book, but I think this was written by her special friend of later years… yes, good times. Right.
Conversation at Midnight Edna St Vincent Millay
The Sonnets, Songs and Poems of Shakespeare
Famous American Plays of the 1920s Including freaking Holiday! I didn’t notice that till just now; swear I didn’t buy it just out of Kateworship.
Manhattan Transfer John dos Passos Because I know not the first thing about this dude, and I should.
Crime and Punishment Fyodor Dostoevsky Again, my shameful ignorance of Russian lit.
St Mawr and The Man Who Died DH Lawrence I seem to collect Lawrence without ever bothering to read him… will follow through this summer, surely.
Oh, 400 miles in anticipation, I80 announces NEW YORK CITY VIA PENNA. And how tempted would you guess I was? Soon, soon…
