Happy Things:

Finished all work due for the week + March + talking about Marianne Boruch + homemade bread + melting snow + bedtime + understanding the passive in German + watching people out my window (someone just waved to me, pretty much the best thing ever)

My pile of poems for the term:

Poems poems poems poems poems poems poems.

Things are melting. It's beautiful, in the way that messy brown shoes are beautiful.

Here is a really nice poem.

Maybe I should start lying about my links and instead say things like: here is a really nice picture of a naked woman.

When I wake up on a sunny morning the sun is shining through my window and it makes me warm and sweaty. Momentarily I ponder what season it is, convince today is the day when everything will melt and turn into mud (it appears that in Galesburg, everything must be muddy before anything can grow) and springtime will finally be here, but when I look at the window there is always still snow on the ground.

I sat around, drank a little glass of wine and watched a bad movie with Dee, Julia, and Brandy instead of going out. I kind of feel like a lam-o, but pregaming seemed like a lot of effort and sobering up seemed even worse.

Everytime I have plans, I always worry that people are not going to come through. But even if they don't, something always happens so it's okay.

I might stay in tonight after I see a dance show. I also might go to a Lady Gaga themed party. The variables are quite large.

My dad called me for the second time this term. The most exciting thing he had done since the last time I talked to him was start a level 6 sudoku.

Sometimes you meet people and think: this is why no one should ever be so sheltered.

I wish natural disasters could take a break for a little bit.

I had a really good night. I was worried whether it would all work out, but it did. Water drinking time now.

Went to a really excellent reading this afternoon by Crystal Wilkinson. I liked her immediately as she stepped up to the microphone. She asked how we were, said she wanted to look at all of our faces. The story excerpt she read was about black farmers in Kentucky. It was really sad, but I still left the reading feeling good. She was just so friendly and her voice sounded so nice. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her reading, but I was scared. After we finished asking question she said, "Even if you don't buy a book, go look at them, touch them, move them around." I appreciated that a lot.

My lips taste like the stuff they clean the founders keyboards with. I need to stop biting my nails.

Last night I was lying in bed thinking of my blog (these are the kinds of things people think about when they aren't interested in any boys) and how to get more readers. I don't know why I feel it's necessary to get more readers. Maybe I think the more people that read this the more validity my life has, which isn't true at all. I'm fairly certain I grant validity to my own life. Anyway. I thought up ways I could make it more interesting.
1. Be funnier. Make observations about the oddities of everyday life. Don't appreciate so many things. Appreciate very little. Make fun of people I know.
2. Get to know more interesting people. Take pictures of them. Prove that everyone I know is really attractive in interesting. Make people wish they knew the people I knew.
3. Become really attractive and interesting myself. Take lots of pictures. Pretend that I don't think it's vain. Try really hard to actually not think it. Talk about the sexual exploits that really attractive interesting people.
4. Start liking things more than knitting and poetry.
At this point I probably fell asleep. I don't really lose sleep over lack of blog readers. Thank god.

I continuously get over excited about food, attempt to eat too much, and then tire of the food.

I have to revise three poems a day, everyday, for two weeks. Why did I write so many goddamn poems this term? Once that's finished I have to pick the 25 I like the most, which at a certain point always turns in the twenty-five that I hate the least. Ten weeks is not enough time for poetry workshop. I want to write more. I want to write twenty-five new poems that are better than the twenty-five I have already written.

I want to create my own major of poetry and knitting. Goddamn it.

-I feel kind of shitty. One of those nights near the end of the term where I am hopelessly overwhelmed.

-If I met Dylan Thomas I wouldn't talk to him. I would be too shy. I would watch him from a distance. If I did interact with him I wouldn't like him regardless of how he acted because I would be too intimidated.

I feel really faint. I need to lie down with some food. I love food. Geeze. My life is being reduced to too little.

I'm doing so poorly in German I want to cry. I don't understand anything.

German makes me feel:

Sexual assault comes up at least several times a day on campus. Yes, I think it was horrible that two sexual assaults occurred on campus, yes I think it's horrible that any at all occur. Everyone does. No one thinks it's okay that sexual assaults are happening. I don't think it's being well handled though. People need to stop being angry with SASS. SASS is one club. They had a sexual assault workshop in the fall, they are trying to bring in another speaker. There is only some much one club can do. Secondly, people need to stop posting things everywhere, on the wall, in the bathroom. I don't want to think about my experiences with sexual assault everytime I go pee. I feel assaulted by sexual assault everywhere and it's not helping, it's really not. It's making me mad at anonymous people I probably shouldn't be mad at. It's making me think about things I've worked really hard not to think about. Please fucking stop. I'm saying no to this.

A friend of mine got an anonymous letter in the mail. I am so jealous. What an exciting thing to happen.

I got really excited to graduate today. Getting a bachelors has never seemed like much of an achievement, but merely something that is done, but today I am excited.

Bees are neat. Julia and I are talking about them.

Do anyone feel confident in their writing? I was talking to my poetry professor yesterday and she professed (as professors do) that she doesn't like her writing either. We decided maybe that is okay. Is that okay?

Last night someone asked me if I had any mortal enemies on this campus and I said no, but last night I had dreams that made me think otherwise. I might be sleeping too much. My body is adjusting to this massive amount of sleep. That is all it wants to do. I don't know how I am going to last in workshop till midnight tonight. I still do too much work everyday. I have four and a half pages of my five page paper due on Thursday. Ideally this would pay off and I would have to do less work later, but there's always more work. There's almost thirty poems to revise, another German essay to write, a German take-home test to take, another Dylan Thomas paper, another Dylan Thomas book to read. Class ends two weeks from today and I feel overwhelmed.

Apparently I've stopped functioning past about 8PM and just want to go to sleep. This is really silly. In my head I get really whiny about having to do homework past midnight, when really most people are doing homework past midnight.

I am far too vindictive. But it feels nice, my life comparatively. It makes me happy to be me.

I keep reading articles that talk about the inability to do things as one gets older. It's harder to become fluent in a language. It's harder to write poetry. It makes me tired. It makes me want to stop working. The poems I am writing now are not good enough and I am running out of time to make them that way.

Sometimes I really can't handle people being contradictary just to be contradictary. Really? Is that really necessary when I'm obviously already crabby with the state of the weather outside?

I used the bathroom in Seymour and was confronted by permanent marker telling me to write about my experiences with sexual assault in a place that they cannot be erased: on the bathroom wall. I don't know what to think about this. In general I think people need to get their words out. In general I think sexual assault needs to be more of a concern, particularly on a college campus, particularly on a college campus where it happen twice in one weekend. But the bathroom? It's so intimate. I would rather write it on the cafeteria walls than the bathroom.

Who doesn't feel like they have chronic fatigue at the end of February? I want spring! I want spring! I want one of those warm days where it gets up to 70 degrees and everyone wears shorts.

My apartment and my room are a mess from this weekend. I have so much work to do. It's good birthdays only come once a year.

Saturday night water, Sunday night waking up.

This is life.

I'm happy regardless. I love all of you too much. Fuck all that shit.

I do.

Happy happy happy.

And I mean that, when I say I am happy. There are people I care about that don't care about me, but there are enough poeple I care about that care about me back. It's lovely enough that I don't care about those other people

Because really I am a happy person.

Sooo sleepy

I just have to get into the shower and then I will realize how nice it is, how much better it is than sitting here shivering.

If you didn't wish me happy birthday, shame on you.

I am drunk, going to sleep, tired. Baking gingerbread, doing homework, drinking more, dancing more tomorrow.

I've been so happy lately.

My mom ordered me a German chocolate cake from the nuns! Hurray!

At the store, a woman asked me, "Are you the girl with a Minnesota tattoo?"

I almost wasn't allowed to buy liquor because the woman had a hard time reading my license. Finally she figured out I was born in 1988 and it was my birthday.

I was walking to the caf to get lunch and I saw a table full of birthday cake. Apparently it's Knox's 173 birthday. I took this as a sign of a happy birthday. Also, look at the card my Dad and brother sent (Pay specific attention to how my brother signed it).

Things that dream about birthday included:
Macaroni and cheese pizza
Cheese pizza
A library
Meeting Margaret Atwood
Julia
Jack
International scandal
Police
Somehow I don't think the real thing will add up.

It's my birthday in 41 minutes.
For the past two weeks I've told everyone I know to come hang out with me.
But really I have no plans.
Except Off-Knox with Amelia. I'm going to read some Matthew Dickman. I was going to read some of my poems, but I like his better.
So I'll probably end up drinking something somewhere with some people.

There is some girl talk going on in the kitchen. Every once in awhile it erupts in giggles.

I hope cake gets involved somehow tomorrow.

I think he thinks he's a joyous person, but the way the mood shifts around him is not that of joy, but discomfort. A reassurance: I'm glad you were a bad decision that didn't work out.

I move through life and it's easy enough. Picture calmness. I go to sleep and it's easy.

Life in it's entirety, for you a disillusion. To think this whole time you thought you were smart.

I made a hat

I'm playing tetris in Founders to kill time. I think this is one of the lower moments of my life.

There's this couple at Knox, at least I think they are a couple, they might be brother and sister. They are both very pale, which makes them look very similar. They were in founders earlier and the boy was sitting and watching the girl play a game on the computer. The girl was paying no attention to the boy and eventually he got up and left. Later he came back in to check and see if she was still here and she wasn't. It was very sad. It's always very sad when couple who look alike fight, because then you think, "But they will never find someone who looks just like them again!" Of course it might actually be better to date people who don't look like you.

I just want to spend all day naked. I like my body today. Let's all spend the day naked.

Oh I'm secretary of a sorority now.

Was woken up by a dream. Tried to remember the dream and all I could remember was shopping for a new notebooka as mine, after four years, is almost filled. I need to save up $20.

Lately I've gotten the sensation of wanting to burrow. I lie in my bed and want to go deeper until I am surrounded. I want poetry to be there with me. Maybe some people. I don't want to be bothered by the cold. I'm done with that.

I had so many things to say, but I am really exhausted, so I am condensing it into a list of words:
self
voice
poetry
drawing
modernism
abstration
exciting
training
olympics
poetry
voice
self

I consider the possibility that I did badly on my essay because I am too in-the-middle with my life. I am not disastified, I am not manically happy. I am in the middle, always the middle ground. I am happy with a lot of people, unhappy with a few, but I ignore them. It's variance. Variance is okay.

Multiple times today I have had to stop myself from making snarky comments. I almost typed "unnecessarily," but no, they are completely necessary. I think though, I am not a mean person. I think I am a nice person.

Sometimes I look at the lives of others and wonder how they live like they do, but I remind myself that is why their life is their life and my life is my life and that we make the decisions we do for a reason.

I just got the worst grade I've gotten in college. It's probably the worst grade I've gotten since calculus junior year of high school. I'm in shock. I keep making excuses in my head, like I was sick when I wrote it, I wrote it too quickly, but there is no excuse. I'm just dumb.

The Olympics have taken over my life. China has beautiful pairs in pairs figure skating. Everytime one of the skaters fell, it was so painful. I wanted to cry for them.

I am so excited to take flash fiction workshop next term.

I always think I don't want to get out of bed because I don't get enough sleep, but last night I got ten hours of sleep and the night before eleven hours and I still don't want to get up.

Valentine's Day was really good. We went to a restaurant and I had a glass of wine on a very empty stomach, which put me in a lovely mood and after dinner we went and got dessert. We mostly talked about boys and things with past boys, but in a nice way.

We are all excited for the future. I want to know completely new people. Not that I don't like any of the people that I know, I just have a hard time being in this place. I wish I knew the people at Knox individually and not as a Knox collective. Also, I feel I would attract different people to me at this juncture in my life. I want to see who I meet and what kind of times I will have with them. There are so many times to be had. So many.

Happy Valentine's Day to the beautiful Gloria! My date for the second year in a row. Also Dee, but I don't think Dee reads this as often.

Now I'm writing silly poems about nothing.

Now I am going to write a hate poem. Not because it's Valentine's Day. Just cause'.

I'm writing love poems because it's Valentines Day. Can a love poem ever be good? The love poems I am writing aren't very good.

It's Valentine's Day. It's interesting to watch the angst and excitement the days leading up to this day. A lot of single people thinking about their singleness and a lot of people in relationships thinking about their significant other and panicking about what to do, what to make. I'm okay with today today. I have really confused feelings for a number of people, but in the end they are all inconsequential. They are just there and will remain there until someone else happens, but I expect nothing will ever happen with my feelings so I disregard them.

Glo and Dee and I are going to a movie and out to dinner. It will be nice.

There is a difference I feel, between making a series of statements and having a conversation. When some people talk, all they are doing is saying things that cannot be followed by anything else. The talk does not lead anywhere. There is no discussion. I much prefer productive conversation that goes places.

Best Video EVER!!!!!

I am about to make a really gross statement: my phelgm and my blood is mixing together. When I blow my nose, it's orange.

When I take things from my blog and put them into a word document, I find I cannot actually spell at all. I am making a year of poems from my blog. I'm fairly certain this makes me one of the most narcisstic people I know. I have low expectations for them. I was surprised when people liked the poem I composed out of January to any degree.

Poetry makes me happy in a way prose doesn't. Why why why why can't I spend the rest of my life writing shitty poems and reading really good ones and writing poems with other people and painting pictures and knitting things? I'm so tired of money. It ruins lives. I'm really broke and I don't care about that, but sometime in the future it's going to matter because I won't be able to eat or live or get any of the things I need, but I want to do productive things that make no money all the time. I wish I wanted to be in business and wear silly suits and high heeled shoes that made nice noises on the floor and date men with lots of money and no feelings who hung mass produced art on the walls and everything they owned was made of metal.

Just ate an entire box of Valentine's Day chocolates. Worst idea ever.

It occurred to me rather clearly a moment ago that I do not understand what lust feels like. A second later I decided that was false. I clearly feel lust, but I feel lust for what people make rather than what their bodies look like, though I have affinities for certain types of bodies and certain faces.

I was woken up ten minutes early by a text and a phone call from the school asking about a missing person who doesn't go here. All I can wonder is what happened to this person to make everyone panic so much?

I still haven't forgiven you, but it's not a big deal really.

Except for being sick, I've been pretty happy lately. It's been nice.

Every time I cough I get the feeling that people are slowly edging their chairs away from me.

Sandy tagged me to write about ten things that make me happy. I have since spent all morning thinking about it.

1. Being around people.

If you know me, you probably know that I really like to be around people almost all the time. I also really like people a lot. Sometimes I think I like people more than other people tend to like people.

2. Knitting.

Knitting relaxes me like no other. I think everyone should knit all the time. Also, a finish product (usually) comes out at the end. Right now I am knitting a cabled beret, it's taking me forever, but the end result should be excellent.

3. Poetry.

Reading a really good poem is like kissing a really cute boy.

4. Getting a text message.

This one sounds dumb, but I really enjoy the surprise of a text message. It means that someone spent however many seconds typing out a message and then sending it to me. I like the text messages that are asking me to do something with them and I like the text messages that just say something that the sender thought I would like.

5. Finishing a sheet of labels at work.


One of my jobs at the public relations office is to label folders and file them on the right shelf. I love finishing a sheet of labels to a ridiculous degree.

6. Getting mail.

I think this is true of everyone. My dad sent my a package today containing cold medicine and two kinds of cough drops. It was so nice.

7. Music.

I hate talking about music, but I really like it. I listen to music almost all the time. Don't tell anyone.

8. Minnesota.

I really like the state of Minnesota. I like the city, I like the forest, the country, the lakes, the people, the art, the music, the river. It makes me happy.

9. Cooking/Baking/Food

I love to cook and bake and eat. Some of the happiest moments of my life have been while eating.

10. Getting comments on my blog.

It makes me happy when people comment. Sometimes I feel like I am typing to thin air.

Now I have to tag 10 people:
3 Standard Stoppages
Brain Spew
Creative Chaos
Glorious Glo
Knit, Read, Repeat
My Awesomely Boring Life
Periphrasis
Soft, Supple Things
Thought Bubbles
Ke kope gore o bue ka bonya

I know it probably seems like I've been really lame all night. That's because I've been really lame all night. Don't even worry about it.

I probably should do my laundry more than once every month and a half. How often does everyone else do the laundry? Am I just dirty?

I'm doing the Polar Plunge this year. Want to sponsor me?

Feeling kind of bummed out. Made a giant pot of chamomile tea.

People I want to date today: People I don't know exist yet.

I keep trying to write things, but everything comes out too political or too juvenile or just too something. The problem is that I'm trying to write a political post without actually being political. Lately I've been working on respecting the politics of other people by not constantly stating my far left opinions, mostly because I don't know what it will achieve. This is complicated by the fact that I don't really know anyone who is extremely conservative. I kind of don't believe they exist. I've been so firmly fixed in the liberal that I have a hard time understanding the point of view of others. To be conservative is so clearly wrong to me. I tried to write a post saying how the concept of "family values" is stupid, because liberals obviously also have a concept of family values, they are just different values. Then I wanted to write about the tea party convention and how it's really ruining tea for all of us, but that was far too punny. Oh well.

I am finally starting to feel better. I am so excited!

I like to imagine Illinois as a prairie and the snow blowing across it. Just the idea of what a desolate tundra it would look like makes me feel colder and lonelier, but I still like it all the same.

There are some people who make really good statements and people like them for their really good statements. Because I am jealous of these people, I label them as insincere.

I always get the urge to lie on the floor.

You know how when you're camping you are so relieved to be able to lie down and go to sleep that it doesn't matter that you are sleeping on the hard ground in a sleeping bag that isn't warm enough, but then when you return home to your bed, it's amazing how soft and warm and nice it is? I've been using a roll of toilet paper to blow my nose all week and I thought that it sufficed well enough, but today I was able to buy tissues, and they are so soft! I was amazed! I am so pleased with the kleenex company for the softness of their product.

I just read a bunch of essays on time and punctuation. I didn't really take them in well, I'm having a hard time thinking clearly do to my bodily state, but they were still interesting. Time feels relative, right? Like right now it's taking forever because I'm waiting for German Club and then I'm going to Walgreens to pick up antibiotics, which I am really excited for. But time also feels relative in relation to the past. Somethings seems really far away and somethings still seem close, even though they are equally distant in the technical sense of time. Mostly the essays were talking about how this gets transcribed in poetry. How does one slow text down like time is slowed? How does one transcribe one time over another time? Why do things still bother me that shouldn't bother me?

It has been confirmed that I have bronchitis.

It has been suggested that I might have bronchitis.

I've almost used an entire roll of toilet paper blowing my noise. My sinuses hurt so bad even my eyeballs are painful.

Cold medicine makes me feel funny. I want to slide into a lovely slippery sleep.

I like it when people act extra human. Especially the people that I like a lot, but can't like as much as I do because everyone likes them so much. It's nice to know that they don't like themselves as much as other people do, even though I want people to like themselves. You know?

I'm so tired of coughing.

Another poem

Poem

Fuck am I ever homesick.

In German they have the word for homesickness "Heimweh," but they also have a word for wanting to get away sickness "Fernweh." While I greatly appreciate the addition of this word, I think we need several more, like feeling sickness. There are ways I miss feeling. Tonight people from the poetry workshops got together to discuss Matthew Dickman and reading him always arises such of feeling of crush within me and it's nice and awful because he's so terribly not real. As a result the feeling deflates rather quickly and I go back to my as of late normal state of being within myself and not desiring to be with anyone else. But I desire to desire to be with someone else. I will continue to desire this until I actually do and remember how much the longing sucks and then I will desire my current state of being okay with being alone.

Still dying. Asked my dad to send me cold medicine from Mastel's which sells natural supplements and things and smells really funny. Anyway, there is this cold medicine that you take three times a day and it makes you all better. Decongestant just makes me feel awful. Sorry I am being so boring.

Hey look, it's Amelia, Amanda, and me with postsecret guy.



Photo cred. John Williams.

Good, I'm glad the one person I see while I'm walking home is one of the few people I really didn't want to see. Such perfect timing.

Primary school teaches children to write bad poetry.

Sick

It's kind of weird being sick, as it's my inclination to always want to go and do things, but when I am sick my body is telling me to lie down and rest. I couldn't even finish a single drink this evening. I did draw a lot of animals on the board on the wall of Julia and Simon's apartment. I drew a two heterosexual lions cuddling, two lesbian lions cuddling, a giraffe, a squirrel, and a hippo. It was very satisfying.

I'm kind of nervous about going to Wales, because I don't really know anyone who is going that well, which could be a good or bad thing. I had an out, because my mom didn't pay the bill and I really considered not going, but to cop-out because I'm scared and homesick is stupid. How am I going to live in Austria for ten months without knowing anyone if I can't survive in Wales for ten days with people I only kind of know?

Worst comes to worst I end up rooming with people I am less than fond of and don't go out at night as much. Whatever, I have an affinity for the sea and beer, so I'm sure I will be fine.

But seriously, if you're going to Wales, let's be friends.

I feel better about poetry.

I want to write pretty things. Sometimes I do. It's nice and surprising, but doesn't feel like part of myself. It's like "oh look what I did over there." Similar to when I paint things and I still don't recognize myself as someone who makes art.

It's really hard to be graceful with a hacking cough.

Do you ever wonder how you move? Some people move so nicely. Do they know how they move? Their movement indicative of something. In third grade I started hating the way my hands were attached to my wrists. It seems too bendable, too loose.

Someday I'll post a lot of poetry and then no one will read this anymore, because not many people actually like to read poetry.

I woke up today feeling awful and so I dragged myself to the health clinic only to be told I have a virus, but left with a note saying I was excuse from class for the next two days, if only for the look of misery on my face. He said, "Your symptoms are very virusy" and later "You have that 'I'm miserable' look on your face." I got cough syrup and decongestant and one of them makes me feel terribly woozy and slightly nauseous and I stare off into space like I'm high. I spent the afternoon in bed with knitting and television, but got antsy at night and wandered over to Julia's where I spent the evening talking with her and Dee about all sorts of things, but mostly definitions. As a person who likes words, I like to diffrentiate one thing from the other, because after all, that's why words are necessary. Some people do not do this, some people like everything to be everything. I like variety. There are many people I do not like. There are many people I love. A lot of these people are the same, but some of them are not and that's okay. I feel like I am talking to third graders "It's okay that things are different," but at college age, people regress and start to feel uncomfortable again, but they see it in a floaty surreal sort of enlightened way. Somedays I am sick, otherdays I am not, there is a difference.

When I was in the waiting room of the health center I read an article about how orchids seduce us.

I wonder how many germs on are those magazines.

I read Michael Dickman's (Matthew Dickman's brother) book of poetry, The End of the West and I really liked this one as well. Ultimately Michael is more my type than Matthew. His poems are really brutal. I saw a quote from an interview with his brother and Matthew said the way to tell them apart is that "Michael has a girlfriend and he has glasses." Of course that momentarily broke my heart, but as I don't actually know Michael, it was only momentarily. I started thinking about what it would be like to date someone who writes poems with lines like:

Make a list
of everything that's
ever been

on fire-

Abandoned cars
Trees
The sea

Your mother burned down to the skeleton

so she could come back, born back from her bed, and walk around the
house again, exhausted
in slippers

What else?

Your brain
Your eyes
Your lungs

That is the first fucking page of the book. Seriously? Dating him would be a lovely nightmare. He is 34 now, but I can't imagine he's changed much from the younger self he's written about.

It made me think about myself. I will never not be the way I am, even if I am with someone. I will always be overemotional and anxious and I will always cry when I write poetry even if I'm sitting in the fucking sunshine. How do you tell people that? I try. I think this is why people don't like me.

Female poets don't have the same allure male poets do. Matthew and Michael started writing to get girls to kiss them and it worked. The female poet is always placed next to Sylvia Plath. I am not depressed or suicidal though. I just like everything too much. Look at how defensive I am getting in dialogue with myself.

According to Frank Warren, people who say they have no secrets have the best secrets. This isn't true for me. I like to say things. I sat for most of his talk, like I did for most of the last one I saw and tried to think of my secrets and the things I came up with were cheesy and lackluster, but here they are anyway:
1. I still get nervous when I see you, but that will pass as it has passed with everyone else.
2. I still get nervous when I see you, but I think eventually things will be better again and I won't feel uncomfortable around you or you around me, which I think we both still do to a slight degree, or atleast I do. It's not because of hard feelings or anything.
3. There are some people I care a lot about and I don't feel like I can tell them how much I care. I know some of them read this too, but I like that.
See, nothing tangible, nothing I can't say.

I ate too much baclava at lunch. I want to turn baclava into a verb. I baclavad.

Postsecret is at Knox tonight. They are making it Knox-students only, which is dumb, also interesting. How does someone get up and share a secret in front of their peers? I will not be sharing a secret. I would if I had something to say, but I don't. I leave everything I think all over the place. It's a mess.

My poems were workshopped last night and narcissism came up as a topic.

People say things to me and I put them in poems and I always want to tell them, but it feels so intimate. It's like telling people I have dreams about them, but I have dreams about people all the time.

I'm fairly certain I'm ill. I'm fairly certain I'm being overdramatic about my illness, but to be realistic, I'm basically dying. No no, in all seriousness I have a sore throat, a cough, I'm whoozy, and fatigued. Dying dying dying.

I feel like someone skinned by throat. I'm not really sure if I can talk yet. This is gross.

I like it when people like their bodies. Like the fat men in Italy in their tiny little swimsuits. I wish I could appreciate stretchmarks.

I meant to study for German all day and all night long, but a nap took predominance and then I went over to Julia's and hung out with Julia and Dee and we roasted onions and tomatoes together, with a side of roasted potatoes (it was a night of roasted 'atoes) with bread and dill harvarti. So delicious. Hoffentlich meine deutsche Prüfung wird gut machen. Ich weiß alle die Wortschatz, aber die Grammatik ein bisschen schwerig ist.

Everything I know about making a sandwich:

Making sandwiches is really hard. It doesn't sound hard, it is merely an accumulation of fairly simply prepared ingredients between two slices of bread, but it is much more complicated than that. Sandwiches prepared by restaurants are often far better than sandwiches made by the common folk and this perturbed me. Why is it when I make a sandwich it isn't as good? So I set out on a mission to make my sandwiches great.

1. The bread: Good bread is necessary. Preferably fresh whole wheat bread that's really big. Little, soft, bread just doesn't hold sandwiches together.

2. The meat: Veggie sandwiches are good, but as I don't eat very much protein I try to put a little meat in every sandwich. The goal is to not overload the sandwich with it because sliced meat doesn't have as much flavor as vegetables. Bacon is really delicious on almost every sandwich.

3. The cheese: Do not use American Cheese whatever you do. Mozzarella is my favorite, but I'm not opposed to a good cheddar or provolone.

4. The vegetables: The bigger the variety, the best. The more flavors a sandwich has, the tastier it is. I like tomatoes, onions, lettuce, cucumbers, and sprouts. This gives the sandwich height and substance and it's like eating a salad between two slices of bread.

5. The sauce: The final key to a good sandwich is the spread component. This is absolutely necessary otherwise the sandwich is bland or dry. I am a big mayonnaise fan, but pesto or an avocado spread is also delicious. All three work together really.

Eating a sandwich is often my favorite part of a day.

I am dying to tell someone "You and me could write a bad romance." I'm excited to have a crush in the future simply so I can use this line.