I'm writing this at the downtown library since for some obscure reason I always write better at the library. I don't stall and hum and hah nearly as much and so yes, I'm writing this in the library.

Current life is kinda sucky with the very notable exception of the guy I'm dating. As a friend or a boyfriend, he always makes things seem a lot better and more interesting.

School isn't doing it for me and wind-up doll, simply going through the motions. So I'm really wanting to take next semester off and do something different for a while.

I was sick last week. The kind of sick where you're walking around in a daze and can't focus on reading even your favourite book, so instead I hung around the basement watching bad television and knitting a hat. I'm a beginner and as of yet the only finished project I have as of yet is a scarf that I made almost a year ago, so faced with this new challenge I wrestled with the damn needles, mentally cursing them with words I wouldn't dare say out loud (swearings a big no-no in my household even when your twenty). I'm pretty sure many of the curses I silently hurled at the four needles and yarn are things that those items are completely incapable of doing.

After one set of colourful metaphors accompanied by a headache and a drossiness that wasn't quite enough that I could sleep my misery away, my mother entered into my presence. She smiled down at me from my place on the couch and asked me how I doing and, when I replied  with a highly censored assesment and politically-correct version of my plight, she informed me that it'd soon be easy.

Grumpily, I muttered that saying it was hard made me feel better.

"Of course, sweetie. If it makes you feel better, I take it back. Knitting hats is hard," she said, more than a little bit of amusement in her eyes. Nothing like one's mother to make an young adult feel like she's a young child.

On the bright side, she got my flu a few days later.

Revenge comes in small ways.

current mood: not myself