Death to Weathermen and Other Soothsayers

It didn't snow. Once again, they said it would, and it didn't. Bastards.

Today started out as a really, really harrowing day, but has gotten better, due to my overzealous excitement about Yeats and all forms of iambic pentameter. Last night, I had the most delicious sleep...you have no idea. Well, this is starting to be very pomo--beginning spliced with ending, so let me go traditional and start things from the beginning, which was last night. There. That's better.

Last night, Matt and I had a fight, so I stalked off the the library and into the waiting arms of William Butler Yeats, which is so sad, that it defies comment. I mean, I could have at least stopped for some sort of alcohol, but no, like any nerd worth her salt, I head off to Swem. I read, read, read, and then I leave and drive around a while. I got lost and ended up in some town called Charles City, which was mildly interesting at 11:00 at night, but I don't think I will ever visit again. And then, I started thinking about the possibility of me getting a flat tire and being stranded with some toothless country cop, and I came home. Then, I stalked off to my bedroom and read approximately 2.3 sentences before falling asleep.

But what a sleep it was. Damn good sleep. This sleep was like the Dom Perignon of sleep, in that, it makes all of my other sleep look like that cheap bottle of Taylor Pink Champagne that I am so regularly mentioning. It was good. So good in fact, that I didn't want to get up this morning, and managed to make myself nearly late for class, where I was supposed to give an oral presentation on my main man Yeats. But somehow, I made it to class on time, made up with Matt (mostly by my mentioning of cute underwear, and his mentioning of broken umbrellas) and did a fairly good job talking about ole W.B., even though I left out the Milton reference I was planning and the green belt I had worn to add to the whole Irish spirit of things wasn't as blatantly visible as I had wanted. Oh well. We can't all be perfect, I guess.

So, in my experiences as of late, I have come to the conclusion that I am a wanderer of some sort. I love to drive around and see things--there is nothing quite as beautiful as an ordinary landscape bathed in the light of the moon. It's this cool experience to be somewhere when you're not really supposed to, when it's not really right. But it's fun. I am looking forward to moving because there will be lots of new things for me to wander around and see.

Well, I should go. I am in the Language Lab since it is much too dreary to venture down to the bookstore to read, and I needed to print off things for my creative writing class. I am not sure what I am going to do for the next hour, as I have printed out all materials and have even printed out applications for the Publishing Institutes I am hoping to attend this summer. Somebody stop me--I am doing way too much for this to be truly me. Ho hum.

And now, for a Yeats quote, even though it doesn't really fit today's post. It's chaotic and cool like my worldview as of late, and well, it's going up because I said. And nobody's the boss of me. At least not yet.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worse
Are full of passionate intensity.

Damn.