who do i visit when i'm not on dland? |
aporeo - 19:10 on 17 II 2004 sol occidit - 23:29 on 13 I 2004 meminisse haec iuvabit - 11:47 on 16 XII 2003 quiesco - 20:31 on 08 XI 2003 alchera mortuast - 14:40 on 01 X 2003 |
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thanks are due to sigyn for her patience and help with CSS |
oddcellist | |
25 II 2002 - 22:51 - verba10 |
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Right. I was going to write one of my monthly Alchera assignments, but instead, I'll confine myself to the Weekly Challenge No. 4, because I've had a terrible day. More about that later, when I have both the time and opportunity to sort it all out. For now: "Weekly Challenge No. 04 Project Begins: Wednesday, February 20, 2002 Project Ends: Wednesday, February 27, 2002 PROJECT DETAILS 'What time of year seems most like your soul? Explore this idea in a journal entry.'" The summer in San Francisco is notorious for its deception, the word "summer" bearing with it a promise of sun and warmth and light, all swept away by the fog that hangs over the ocean. This is no tule fog, this ocean fog that forms in the summer from the cold current down our coast. Thick, rushing through the gaps between hills and filling the city: So there it is. To perhaps awaken interest: the subject of my monthly entry, as defined by the Oxford Dictionary of Foreign Words and Phrases, is "telamon." Telamones are the male equivalents of caryatids, which are the female supporters of buildings immortalized especially in Rodin's The Caryatid Fallen Under Her Stone. I may be making that title up. Today. Incredibly stressful day. The one good thing? I got tickets to the concert Mstislav Rostropovich is playing on 15 April! And that just a couple of months before the event. I'm so happy. And incredibly lucky that there are still seats. He's playing Shostakovich. *swoons* So there were other bad things. Like, trying to restring the school cello. Borogoves, possibly only you will understand this, but after I tried the first time, I noticed that the bridge was out of alignment. Damn. So I loosened the strings and shifted it back into alignment. Pop. Over the next forty-five minutes, I would restring the cello three times, replace the bridge seven times correctly and one time backwards, watch the bridge fall over eight times, have to stuff more dampening material under the tailpiece six times in case it fell. Aargh. Then I tried to tell a teacher I don't take any classes from that, no, I didn't want to play in the pit orchestra for Oklahoma!, and that I'd been trying to be polite and get out gracefully, but in the end, I had neither the inclination nor the time to make such a committment work. In addition, I am already being lectured for my lack of time management skills, both by sisters and by parents, and I really don't need to deal with this on top of it. His reaction? "You should give it more thought. And rethink it, Jeremy. It's really about giving some of your gifts back to the community." What would I have liked to do? Throw a tantrum and scream, PISS OFF! STOP PUSHING MY GUILT BUTTONS! Did I? No. Although I may want to rethink this "suppressed rage" I've claimed to have up above. So I have that to take care of. Then there was the Latin Test from Hell. Which nobody was prepared for and had a question on material that the bulk of the class wasn't responsible for. (I was. So I blame only myself. But it wasn't fair to ask the rest of the class the same question, I don't think.) All right. Deep breaths... I've got Rostropovich tickets, and that's all that matters. Homework now. (And since Dizboy isn't around to say it for now... "Be well.") |
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Can you think of something new to help me fill this space? |
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