I'm so unsure how I'm supposed to feel about what's going on in other people's lives, that I've just flatlined and stopped feeling anything. And then, for no explicable reason, I had dry-heaves while in the shower. I suppose it's some sort of sensation, though not normally the one I'd leap for if I were allowed to choose for myself.

I do hope this concludes sometime soon. I think I'd prefer being irrational and angry, but then I'd have to be angry at someone. Somehow, bawling at fate seems utterly inadequate. There's no one to place blame on??not even myself. I'd really enjoy having that as a way out. Nothing beats wallowing in self-pity.

*raises glasses high* Here's to limbo.

(Apologies for the cryptic bullshit.)

I think it was last night when I was lying with my head in John's lap, his hands holding my wrists and mine looped around his, that I changed my plan for the summer from a simple hammock to a two person hammock. It was, without a doubt, both my most coherent and most brilliant thought all night long.

The shower situation has gotten sort of weird recently. Earlier in the week, some overly amourous couple got caught makin' whoopie in one of the shower stalls, and just this morning one of the bathrooms on our floor was entirely trashed.

Now mind you, I have no objection to the notion of sex in a shower. Hell, to me it sounds like a warm and squishy way to spend an afternoon. But in a college shower stall... it's sort of pushing even my limits of exhibitionism and that thrill of danger people babble about.

As far as the exhibitionist angle goes, you have to face up to the fact that if you stand within a foot of the shower curtain, it will develop this super-kinetic static cling and waft inwards to line every fold and curve of your body. If the government had secretly dipped the shower curtain into ink, they would now have a huge, body-long fingerprint of you, every wrinkle and fold captured perfectly.

And then there's the perils of actually being naked in one of those showers. I only strip to nothing but shower sandles because there's no other method, except maybe sponge bathing at one of the sinks, which would be a bit awkward on any of the passerby. Makes it tricky to be neutral, or even just civil, to one of your floormates, who is just trying to just brush their teeth, ignoring you while you loufa your armpits.

Still, for someone to risk actually getting nude with not one, but TWO people in the shower stall, seems a bit gratuitous. Just imagine the following throes of passion:

"Oh baby! Oh baby!"

"Oh baby ba... fuck, not again"

"What is it?"

"My sandle came off."

"Shit, not again. Let me get the bactine..."

With the fungus growing between our tiles, trying to screw in a shower seems about as erotic as bathing hip-deep in lysol, but without the lemon-fresh scent, Add a window open to the freezing outdoors, since they never bothered to install ventilation in the bathrooms, and it's better to have cold air wafting in than to have mold growing on the ceiling-- seems like it would be easier to just kick out that nosy roommate and lock (then block) your doors.

With such a delightful setup it seems positively excessive to go out of your way to trash the restrooms, but someone gave it a try despite the senselessness. I staggered out of bed (with an extra emphasis on the staggering, since staying up late last night to be prepped for Japanese and Music Lit finals didn't help my ability to walk in a straight line any). My goal was to get into the bathroom, fill my hands with water, and stick my face into the resultant puddle.

However, the soap on the mirrors and the TP sprawling across the floor and my sneakers sticking gummily to the floor seemed to drain that goal, and I just brushed my teeth in an untouched sink and made sympathetic noises at the RA. Strange that soap fumes can be just as jarring to half-conciousness as a facefull of cold water.

Hmmph. The cold water certainly smells better, at least.

I'd like to be around when they develop natural-light bulbs. I mean, incadescent is great (compared to flourescent, at least) but nothing beats fusion powered reading lamps.

Maybe I just really miss being able to read whilst I lie on the beach in a swimsuit without getting frostbite in any variety of unpleasant places. Why isn't it summer? I want to be burnt all over, dammit.

On a totally different note (or at least one that relates to the lack of clothing) I still don't have any word on that modelling job. I'd hate to think I utterly destroyed a razor for nothing. Sigh...

I just finished my theory homework right on the nick of midnight.

Doing so was wonderfully fulfilling, for some odd reason. It meant I'd accomplished all I needed to do today. I did my laundry, my homework, a substantial chunk of needlework, found some references I needed on Sumerian mythology (though I have yet to check with the library as to whether they're sources I can get from there), remembered to set aside my red dragon shirt so that I could reseam the sleeve (although I didn't actually do so), changed the sheets on my bed, and I got to level 16 on Airburst.

It was like a revelation about why my dating friends get so mushy about domestic dates- where she and her significant other don't do anything, just sit around the house doing things that need to get done. This is sort of like that- I feel warm and bubbly and self-suffiecient.

Next semester, Domestic Sundays will also include cleaning the bathroom. I haven't gotten so warm and bubbly about that.

But anyway, with all this completed, I felt like I could safely say to myself, "Sasha... today is going to be a good day." And it will be, whether it likes it or not.

"I'm Spartacus!"
- Robin Williams

So I was particularaly bored this evening and decided, for no apparent reason, to read reviews for the movie Caligula. Maybe it's because I miss all the pretentious people back home, and this is the fastest way I could think of to bringing back sweet nostalgia.

Caligula, if you hadn't heard, is supposed to have been the grossest movie made (some say it still is...) It's mostly famous because a lot of people saw its all star cast (for it's time, at least; the movie was released in 1979.) and flocked to see their latest performance. Whether it remains the pinnacle of puking films, I ain't sure; it's not the genre I usually look into.

Anyway, because of it's star studded cast, no one wants to say that it's a shitty movie, with no real point or plot except scenes between the sex and violence, and yet most of the reviewers find it impossible to admit that they enjoyed it. It seems they all want to compare it two and a half hour car accident, but they don't dare say so.

This amuses me to no end.

I still don't really want to see it.

Is there some fucking cosmic law that says all my friends have to be depressed simultaneously? There's so many variations of it, so many degrees of "who's more upset than who."

I guess there's just some law of mutual bitchiness that I missed out on? That if one person I know gets down, then it just naturally follows everyone else has to do the same?

Trendiness sucks.

My mythology professor told me that if there was one major problem with Ovid's metamorphoses, it was that Ovid wrote the Greek myths with much love, but he did so in a style that made it obvious that, while he adored these stories, he had no respect for the gods involved. It took out all the reverence the Greeks had for these goofy anthromorphs. They were no longer objects of worship; just tales to tell your kids.

However, it does make for good reading.

Earlier this afternoon, while I was plowing through an overly dry textbook on the Shinto religion, I wondered if I could pull an Ovid on this otherwise uninteresting crap. It would take years of work, and I'd have to actually read it all, too.

I guess that answers that question. One of these days, I'll grow some ambition. Pity it doesn't grow on trees, like most things do in mythological traditions...

On a side note, among the things he had power over, Quetzalcoatl was also the diety of butterflies. Curious.