Whatever.

I should have known that God was out to spite me today when I was forced to suffer through a "freezing, maybe a couple of degrees over" shower this morning. It was numbing, to say the least.

I'm feeling a mess. Maybe I just drank too much white trash sparkling nail polish remover tonight.

One thing I know is that I always try to do the right thing, regardless of whether or not anyone necessarily deserves it. I'm also really tired of being a fallback. I'm tired of apologizing for no reason, and while I'll never get tired of caring, I am tired of caring without any appreciation. I've watched enough movies to know what I want, but I've also lived long enough to know that certain things may never happen. I may have little to no sense of reality, but at least I don't pretend I'm one way and act another.

I don't want to have invested all of this time only to lose everything, but really, it's out of my control.

The statehouse looked especially beautiful tonight.

Of Mice and Moi

So, I'm coming to terms with this addition of a fourth, freeloading roommate.

His name is Steven, and he is, so far, a hypothetical mouse that may or may not live in my apartment. I hope to God that he stays hypothetical and minds his own business if he is there, so that I don't have to deal with seeing him and being made completely and solidly aware of his presence. 

But I do have confirmation that there are mice in the building, based on this conversation I had not too long ago with my California Cool Classmate/Downstairs neighbor named Micah.

Me: (Clomping down the stairs with trashbags in my hand) MICAH. Do you have a mouse? In your apartment?
Micah: (Slowly emerging from his apartment, startled by the volume of my voice and my presence in general) Uh, yeah. We have two.
Me: Awesome. (Hurls trash bags out onto sidewalk)

So now I have a dilemma. I can either leave the mice alone and hope that I never see them, ever, or I can call the landlord, get some traps, or bring in a cat to release it's scary, mouse repelling, cat smell. The problem with the latter is actually having to see the mouse bodies, or, in the cat situation, facing the possibilty of having a half dead mouse being dropped lovingly at my feet and or on my lap.

HEINOUS. I'm living on edge these days, kids.

But I DO love Grey's Anatomy, so much that it probably could be considered a problem. It's just always so good. I'm always satisfied. Ahem. I also love H&M and Pan Asia at the dining hall, even though Pan Asia has the potential to give the Aramark chefs a heart attack, they were just so intense. Kristina and I witnessed the terrorization of two students who simply did not understand the mechanics of Pan Asia. 

I absolutely need to stop procrastinating, as I have more work to do this weekend than ever before, starting tomorrow with a day of watching Emerson Channel crew and talent auditions, wahoo!

Set the fuse to go.

It's days like today that really make me grateful to just be alive. (I actually mean this in a very literal sense, as a few minutes ago I was nearly taken out in the crosswalk in front of the statehouse by some mongrel running a red light in a pimped out Dodge Neon.)

Classes started yesterday, and while I may have originally misread Media and the Holocaust as my required Interdisciplinary course (we don't get to watch Schindler's List and we're required to read Maus I and II, which are little "comic" books about Nazi mice that I'm going to have to carry around and find a way to read in public without looking like a terrible human), I think it will end up being very interesting; more so than Media Criticism and Theory, which I still don't know a thing about. I'm in love with Writing the Feature Film, mainly because the "STAFF" that was teaching it at the time I signed up for the class turned out to be a woman named Diane Lake, who literally wrote the screenplay for Frida and who's jetsetting back and forth from LA to Boston to teach this class at Emerson. Thursday I have Studio Television Production, which I'm sure will not suck at all. 

Time goes by, but dates stick out in my mind, and even after three years, it's so easy to go right back in time and remember how it went, where I was, exact lines of dialogue and what I could have done if I'd known what I know now. But I like to think I've learned how to deal with the past a little better than I could before, and that being done, all I can think to say is thank you. Thank you for opening my eyes and making me aware of how important it is to appreciate every moment. I just wish we might have learned together.

So I'm glad I survived the walk across the street, I'm glad it's fall, I'm glad I belong here, and at the moment I'm glad I have no problem with the prospect of selling my soul in the name of Hollywood, but check back with me in five years or so.

Promiscuous Girl!

I can't believe how tired I am. I blame the Hill.

I also can't believe that I've worn the same black STAFF shirt for the past three days in a row. I think I'm allowed to switch over to the green t-shirt for tomorrow. Ahhhhhhh, fresh, clean green. I guess I COULD do laundry. Regardless, I've met Kristina's roommates twice now, and both times I was wearing the exact same outfit. They probably think I'm the Rain Man or something, and that I have some bizarre attatchment to the black T-shirt. I don't.

The Facebook has crossed a definite line. Between knowing exactly who's writing on who's wall and who's gone from "Single" to "It's Complicated", there's very little left to do in the way of good, old fashioned, discreet Facebook stalking.

I really don't think I'll ever get enough of Dawson's Creek. Tonight I'm capping off my night with the episode where Pacey invites the hotel critic to the Potter B&B and we see how much Pacey loves Joey because he's able to watch her sleep, which, according to Grams, is a telltale sign of love. If that's not poetry, I don't know what is. I wonder if I'll achieve the level of coolness and maturity in my whole life that those Creek kids managed to accomplish by the time they were sixteen.

Jaws was on earlier, and I absolutely love stumbling upon Jaws on television. Lizzy was impartial to the fact that Steven used a midget in place of Richard Dreyfuss when he filmed the scene in the shark cage to make the LIVE SHARKS in the shot seem bigger. If I were a midget, I would sprint to Hollywood as fast as my teeny legs would take me so that I could take advantage of the high demand that Steven has for midgets/shark bait in his films.

The pouring rain is no place for a bicycle ride.

I'm just online.

FINALLY ABLE TO BE ONLINE IN THIS NEW APARTMENT.

AND I can watch television. Love it.

So we moved in this past weekend and it was a little hairy in the beginning, but things are shaping up to be quite lovely, indeed. Once my moving bins are back in Leominster and not in our living room, and once the empty boxes in the kitchen have been disposed of, and once the painters come to eliminate the random red wall that the previous tenents felt was necessary, this apartment will really look par. I'm excited. And there are gas lanterns and brick sidewalks and Whole Foods and Coldstone and I'm just really loving this Beacon Hill business. I just hope I don't die trying to walk down the incline in the winter. Perhaps I'll get a sled.

Fast Forward/Rewind is making me forget that I have classes in a week. I should probably purchase some books.

I hate how when I don't have to wake up early in the morning, I get all riled up and stay awake forever instead of catching up on sleep. It doesn't make sense. I'm going to schleep.

Buenos noches, says Juanes.

Bon nuit, says Eleanor, who gets to live in Paris now, lucky CANARD.