![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I swear, if college instills in you the kind of discipline you're to rely on for the rest of your adult life ... I think I'm condemned to sleeping in, "sleeping" in, not sleeping at all, and flinging elements and ingredients together in order to meet a deadline by the hair on the skin of my teeth.
Come to think of it ... half of those options sound pretty good to me.
Y'know what's nice? Pubs. Not bars, the place of drunken students and carcinogen-laden air, and definitely not sports bars, place of drunken Native Canadians (it's not stereotyping if it's true) and brawls over hockey bets. Pubs.
Places of nice beer on tap, wood-smoke atmosphere, and a menu that offers Teriyaki wings and spring rolls. Places of talking about whatever you want in total confidence and without inhibition (before and after said beer). Places tucked away in old areas of the city with their original foundations of wood and wrought iron still intact and unblemished by commercial sterility. It's like having a mountain cabin you can sneak away to ... utter strangers go there, too, but you don't really care because it feels so relaxed with them in the background. Found a nice place, thanks to pure good luck, and I think I'll keep it in mind every now and then when I crave a moment of non-city and a pint of Guiness.
Yes, I have discovered that I like Guiness ... almost more than any other beer I've tried, and I don't usually like beer all that much. It leaves a nice thick cloud of taste right at the back of your throat, almost like how I imagine cigarette smoke would linger in your mouth, and if you don't breathe regularly, then the taste almost coalesces into something more solid as if it's about to gag you, but it never really gags you. It's like drinking velvet.
The black hole of beers, the beer that bends light, the beer that eats like a meal, the beer you drink with a fork. Not nearly as terrifying as some claim, and a very quick favorite in my book.
I'm feeling linguistic ... feeling literary tonight.
Y'ever feel tired to the point of actual pain? Not headaches, not sleeping limbs, not clumsy stumbles down stairs due to lagging nerves. Tired ... as if someone's taken your frontal lobe, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and is slowly sucking the air out ... constricting it second by second. When you look at a camera's flash and your eyes see multicolored little stars, or when you stand up too fast a get a head rush when your eyes are still open ... you don't see that, really, but you feel it happening behind your eyes.
And then you fall asleep as soon as you let your guard down ... and it feels so welcome, so nice ... until you wake up.
I'm starting accumulate a collection of stuffed animals with very non-cuddly names. My only Beanie Baby in my dorm room (have two at home, more cuddly) is the one named Slayer. Most recently, I've been gifted with a teddy bear, soft and squishiable enough to use as a pillow, like I inadvertently did last night. He's black. Solid black. As in, he has no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no stitchery or buttons of any kind. Black. I call him Wraith. Love 'im.
Reading week next week. I'm torn between my options. Option one, I could get a butt-load of work done and be confident about where I stand come next Monday (and I can't slack completely, either ... damn deliberate Reading Week projects). Or, I could indulge in option two and catch up on ME time. For one, I want to get a good night's sleep that includes getting out of bed when I absolutely decide I feel like it. And yes, Travis, I read about your invitation for swordfighting. Damn, I want to go all cool-sweaty-nuts swinging a sword around. I haven't done that enough. Try and call you, I will.
And ... yeah. Here's art. RPG pieces that seem to sneak up on me and beat me into slavish submission ... in class.
( As if I don't have enough 'Davids' to keep track of in RL ... )
Come to think of it ... half of those options sound pretty good to me.
Y'know what's nice? Pubs. Not bars, the place of drunken students and carcinogen-laden air, and definitely not sports bars, place of drunken Native Canadians (it's not stereotyping if it's true) and brawls over hockey bets. Pubs.
Places of nice beer on tap, wood-smoke atmosphere, and a menu that offers Teriyaki wings and spring rolls. Places of talking about whatever you want in total confidence and without inhibition (before and after said beer). Places tucked away in old areas of the city with their original foundations of wood and wrought iron still intact and unblemished by commercial sterility. It's like having a mountain cabin you can sneak away to ... utter strangers go there, too, but you don't really care because it feels so relaxed with them in the background. Found a nice place, thanks to pure good luck, and I think I'll keep it in mind every now and then when I crave a moment of non-city and a pint of Guiness.
Yes, I have discovered that I like Guiness ... almost more than any other beer I've tried, and I don't usually like beer all that much. It leaves a nice thick cloud of taste right at the back of your throat, almost like how I imagine cigarette smoke would linger in your mouth, and if you don't breathe regularly, then the taste almost coalesces into something more solid as if it's about to gag you, but it never really gags you. It's like drinking velvet.
The black hole of beers, the beer that bends light, the beer that eats like a meal, the beer you drink with a fork. Not nearly as terrifying as some claim, and a very quick favorite in my book.
I'm feeling linguistic ... feeling literary tonight.
Y'ever feel tired to the point of actual pain? Not headaches, not sleeping limbs, not clumsy stumbles down stairs due to lagging nerves. Tired ... as if someone's taken your frontal lobe, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and is slowly sucking the air out ... constricting it second by second. When you look at a camera's flash and your eyes see multicolored little stars, or when you stand up too fast a get a head rush when your eyes are still open ... you don't see that, really, but you feel it happening behind your eyes.
And then you fall asleep as soon as you let your guard down ... and it feels so welcome, so nice ... until you wake up.
I'm starting accumulate a collection of stuffed animals with very non-cuddly names. My only Beanie Baby in my dorm room (have two at home, more cuddly) is the one named Slayer. Most recently, I've been gifted with a teddy bear, soft and squishiable enough to use as a pillow, like I inadvertently did last night. He's black. Solid black. As in, he has no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no stitchery or buttons of any kind. Black. I call him Wraith. Love 'im.
Reading week next week. I'm torn between my options. Option one, I could get a butt-load of work done and be confident about where I stand come next Monday (and I can't slack completely, either ... damn deliberate Reading Week projects). Or, I could indulge in option two and catch up on ME time. For one, I want to get a good night's sleep that includes getting out of bed when I absolutely decide I feel like it. And yes, Travis, I read about your invitation for swordfighting. Damn, I want to go all cool-sweaty-nuts swinging a sword around. I haven't done that enough. Try and call you, I will.
And ... yeah. Here's art. RPG pieces that seem to sneak up on me and beat me into slavish submission ... in class.
( As if I don't have enough 'Davids' to keep track of in RL ... )
