Fruit, Finals, & Frustrations

So, it's study week for finals

and I'm pleasantly overwhelmed

overwhelmed to the point

where I'm on my sixth hour

of sitting in the Deec writing my Hemingway paper

it hurts

just 2 finals, one paper, and 120 more Art History flash cards to memorize

oh, and a Dada collage, great

I bought some used books for my English class this semester

and I don't think I will ever do that again

because you wind up with a book

that someone has decided to permanently scar,

with pen, and odd insights

like on page 36 of my The Sun Also Rises

the person who had it before me

felt it necessary to look up all the French slang and cultural allusions

and now I can always know, since its forever there in blue pen

that Zizi is "French slang for peepee", wonderful insight

I'm trying to relish in academia,

and she taints it with the word peepee, come on

on a better note, the other day

the Deec had real live fresh fruit

not your normal apples and bananas kids,

pineapple! and strawberries!

I was the loon with the two plates of pineapples

and nearly all of the strawberries

I was also the loon who turned into a thief

and stole a bowl of fruit so I can have some happiness in

my dark, dusty room

being bad feels so good sometimes

especially when you can eat a nice big slice of pineapple before going to bed

nom, and everyone knows I'm dangerous around strawberries

so no more must be said about them

om nom nom fruit

Also, I have a large bug to pick with Raymond Ave (the block right outside of Vassar)

there is absolutely no place to get an ice cream cone

a real life, sugar cone

gosh, it's a simple request

but I'm so over wafer cones

they taste like Catholic communion

and I don't want my ice cream to taste like church

so instead I got an italian ice from the pizza place

it was the next best thing

its not the same as home

where you get an icee from the same Puerto Rican man on Delancey

who you've been buying from since you were little

man, do I miss home

but this icee was delish

it tasted like a scoop of childhood

now only if I could have a slice of childhood: a slice of Elio's pizza

you know, the microwaveable kind

that was always on sale when I was younger

and I would put it into the toaster oven

and wait wait wait

then cut it into little cubes

and nom nom nom

I can't wait to go home

I have five more days till I'm free

then its 3 months of shopping, puppy time, Coney Island

oh, and mom-made omelets,

that's the best part.

My Love Affair with William Faulkner

So I was just in the shower thinking 

about my next blog post

following my strict regimen of shampoo, conditioner, brush teeth, soap, rinse hair

or so I thought...

in my excitement to blog I was conditioning my hair

and could not remember whether or not I shampooed it

which is ridiculous, an 18 year old should not be experiencing that sort of memory loss

nonetheless, I shampooed and conditioned all over again, just in case

and I promise myself never to let blogging cloud my rationality or memory ever again

now, lets get to the goods:

amidst the tragedy of going back to school comes the misery of buying new books

I mean, I'm super excited for my classes

quick summary: American Modernism, art history, 

17th century Flemish painting, & Alice in Wonderland

yes, sounds amazing but the bill for my books doesn't

so I moseyed on over to Strand to buy books for my English class

which actually was a complete joy, because Faulkner is on my reading list

yes ladies and gents...William Faulkner, the one of the ultimate loves of my life

I know some girls swoon over abs, and charm 

but what really makes my heart beat is beautiful prose

throw me some sensuous imagery & a lush metaphor 

and basically you got me 

which is why I love Faulkner

with his Southern Charm, thick mustache, and pensive gaze, 

I'm just hooked

what can I say? he even makes tweed look good

and everyone already knows my thoughts on tweed...that vile fabric

anyway, in all his mustachioed glory Faulkner is my man 

so there I was, sitting on the couch, watching back to back episodes of True Life 

all tutu-ed and floral-printed out reading The Sound & the Fury,

just in heaven,

transported to the South amidst moral decay

then, I dropped my book and it opened to page 125

and a certain sentence seemed to glow on the page

I swear the sunlight was streaming through the window 

like it was Christ's second coming or something

and I read that lovely sentence 

"Her face was like a cup of milk dashed with coffee in the sweet warm emptiness"

there it is, that is romantic, that is love

that is a bouquet of roses and a love poem and a dinner for two wrapped up into one sentence

and that is why I am in love

...it sounds like I really miss English class

so shoot me, maybe I do

but I'd much rather conduct English class from my couch with my fleece robot blanket.