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"I'll bring my jackboots and riding crop if necessary"
I finally, at long last, registered for classes yesterday. I'm taking Senior Thesis, Invertebrate Paleontology, Physics lab, Watershed Hydrology, and Earth Cycles, which is meteorology, and I'd like one more, preferably *not* hard science. Just by chance, nothing so far starts before 1 PM . . . I should have registered in May, this might be my all-time personal record for procrastination. Now if I finally finish the way-overdue fandom stuff that I'm filled with guilt over, I will be free!
Actually registration had been hanging over my head for so long, occasionally letting out little lightning bolts that said DOOM, that when I finally did it and nothing suitably horrible happened it was a bit of an anticlimax. I was left feeling restless and at odd ends, like there was someting terribly urgent that needed doing but I'd already done it. I tried reading fic, reading novels, working on my quilt, watching TV, even going outside to swing and climb trees, but I kept feeling twitchy and off-balance. Not until Mom came home from her late meeting at church did I finally find something to keep me occupied, and I really ought to have thought of it sooner: Sorting and cataloguing books.
Actually I've been doing that a lot lately. In the past week I re-stacked and catalogued all our paperback novels (not counting the ones in Mom's room, the the ones in the library, and the Star Trek and Star Wars ones, that is.) To give you a very rough idea of how many there were, I gave myself a blister on my thumb from lifting piles on and off the shelves. More exactly, we have 965, by 468 different authors. 741 of them are sf.
What I realized last night while sorting out the YA novels downstairs (of which there are 126 by 75 authors, included in the previous total, 82 of them sf) is that I with my books greatly resemble the archetypal miser with his piles of money. Whenever I'm upset, or feel like it, or just have nothing urgent to do, I closet myself to pore over my books and count them and sort them and read them. I can tell you when and where I got every one and acuire new ones at an average rate of ten a week, far faster than even I can finish them, and they never, ever leave my tight fist . . . the difference of course being that books have intrinsic value and money doesn't.
Anyway, after this revelation I decided that I really needed to get out of the house for a bit, so I told Mom to drag me along on one of her epic six-hour shopping trips today. Three guesses what I bought, and the first two are 'nothing' and 'string'.
Actually I was in one of my very rare 'buying junk' moods today, so I actually ended up buying quite a lot and spending nearly $30. Most of it was Mom's money and I don't regret that I now own any of it, but I still feel guilty considering I have been to lazy to get a job or accomplish anything. And not that I *needed* any more junk. But still.
The books are Terry Pratchett's The Truth and Steven King's On Writing. That brings the Pratchett total to 16 and the King total to 5. The Jack Chick track was a free bonus we found on the backseat of our car, but I claimed it, because it's the first time I'd ever seen a real one, and it's all I'd been expecting and more. I've found two new Discworlds within a week and hadn't read either of them yet, what an embarassment of riches! Hermione and I were thumbing through On Writing before dinner, and I have the same feeling I did the first time I read it; I doubt I'll learn much from it because he thinks too much like I do, I've figured all this stuff out on my own already. But it's still a fun book.
Oh yeah-- Hermione was $5 at Big Lots, and I haven't let her out of my sight since. She sat on my shoulder at Wal-Mart and rode up front in the cart at the supermarket. Mom kept asking me how old am I, again? Phooey on her. It's been a long time since a stuffed toy has started talking to me. They used to do it all the time, but the summer I was ten KB got them together and told me I was too grown-up and I needed to stop, and since they've mostly clammed up, alas. But Hermione started talking to me right away! She says she *hates* flying so please stop throwing and catching her, and she told me that as soon as I'm done on the internet we should go upstairs and she'll help me finish that H/V pixie that's been sitting on my hard drive for a year exactly this week. I'm debating introducing her to the Anakin we picked up at Goodwill last month-- on the plus side, maybe they'll get along and he'll start talking too. On the minus side, maybe they'll get along and he'll start talking too . . .
The bottle is supposedly an apple soda, made and bottled in Mexico (as the signs in Dollar General say, "Los tenemos productos hispanos") but even if it's awful the bottle was worth the purchase price. The combs are for the fleeces I told Uncle Paul I was going to spin for him, which iap. so felted that it will probably take till Christmas to even get them good enough to card. The rag rugs are for my room at school; now that I've registered I'm allowed to start thinking about that, and since I have a single this year I think I'm going to do it all in textiles. Quilts on the walls, blankets over the furniture, throw rugs and cushions scattered on the floor.
The pants are a pair of capri-length pajama pants, which will come in very handy during that time of month*, as they're black and short enough not to be seen under a skirt. The mesh jacket is for wearing when swimming, hopefully the next step in building up my courage to wear my new bikini (Step one: knee-length black t-shirt over it. Step two: small, thin, pale yellow, obscene t-shirt over it. Step three, maybe mesh jacket. If I get brave enough.) We'll see. I told Mom we were spending at the very least a whole day at the beach in Rhode Island next week, so I'll get my chance. I tried it at the pool at one of the hotels in Kentucky but was way too paranoid about falling out of the top to take the t-shirt off. q-:
*The time of month during which I am bleeding from the crotch and feeling too apathetic to do anything about it. I've already ruined all my old pajama pants by wearing them like that.
Oh, did I mention that Mom finally caved and bought a digital camera? Well, she did. I've already run the batteries down-- going out to buy a charger was the original excuse for shopping today.
Actually registration had been hanging over my head for so long, occasionally letting out little lightning bolts that said DOOM, that when I finally did it and nothing suitably horrible happened it was a bit of an anticlimax. I was left feeling restless and at odd ends, like there was someting terribly urgent that needed doing but I'd already done it. I tried reading fic, reading novels, working on my quilt, watching TV, even going outside to swing and climb trees, but I kept feeling twitchy and off-balance. Not until Mom came home from her late meeting at church did I finally find something to keep me occupied, and I really ought to have thought of it sooner: Sorting and cataloguing books.
Actually I've been doing that a lot lately. In the past week I re-stacked and catalogued all our paperback novels (not counting the ones in Mom's room, the the ones in the library, and the Star Trek and Star Wars ones, that is.) To give you a very rough idea of how many there were, I gave myself a blister on my thumb from lifting piles on and off the shelves. More exactly, we have 965, by 468 different authors. 741 of them are sf.
What I realized last night while sorting out the YA novels downstairs (of which there are 126 by 75 authors, included in the previous total, 82 of them sf) is that I with my books greatly resemble the archetypal miser with his piles of money. Whenever I'm upset, or feel like it, or just have nothing urgent to do, I closet myself to pore over my books and count them and sort them and read them. I can tell you when and where I got every one and acuire new ones at an average rate of ten a week, far faster than even I can finish them, and they never, ever leave my tight fist . . . the difference of course being that books have intrinsic value and money doesn't.
Anyway, after this revelation I decided that I really needed to get out of the house for a bit, so I told Mom to drag me along on one of her epic six-hour shopping trips today. Three guesses what I bought, and the first two are 'nothing' and 'string'.
Actually I was in one of my very rare 'buying junk' moods today, so I actually ended up buying quite a lot and spending nearly $30. Most of it was Mom's money and I don't regret that I now own any of it, but I still feel guilty considering I have been to lazy to get a job or accomplish anything. And not that I *needed* any more junk. But still.
The books are Terry Pratchett's The Truth and Steven King's On Writing. That brings the Pratchett total to 16 and the King total to 5. The Jack Chick track was a free bonus we found on the backseat of our car, but I claimed it, because it's the first time I'd ever seen a real one, and it's all I'd been expecting and more. I've found two new Discworlds within a week and hadn't read either of them yet, what an embarassment of riches! Hermione and I were thumbing through On Writing before dinner, and I have the same feeling I did the first time I read it; I doubt I'll learn much from it because he thinks too much like I do, I've figured all this stuff out on my own already. But it's still a fun book.
Oh yeah-- Hermione was $5 at Big Lots, and I haven't let her out of my sight since. She sat on my shoulder at Wal-Mart and rode up front in the cart at the supermarket. Mom kept asking me how old am I, again? Phooey on her. It's been a long time since a stuffed toy has started talking to me. They used to do it all the time, but the summer I was ten KB got them together and told me I was too grown-up and I needed to stop, and since they've mostly clammed up, alas. But Hermione started talking to me right away! She says she *hates* flying so please stop throwing and catching her, and she told me that as soon as I'm done on the internet we should go upstairs and she'll help me finish that H/V pixie that's been sitting on my hard drive for a year exactly this week. I'm debating introducing her to the Anakin we picked up at Goodwill last month-- on the plus side, maybe they'll get along and he'll start talking too. On the minus side, maybe they'll get along and he'll start talking too . . .
The bottle is supposedly an apple soda, made and bottled in Mexico (as the signs in Dollar General say, "Los tenemos productos hispanos") but even if it's awful the bottle was worth the purchase price. The combs are for the fleeces I told Uncle Paul I was going to spin for him, which iap. so felted that it will probably take till Christmas to even get them good enough to card. The rag rugs are for my room at school; now that I've registered I'm allowed to start thinking about that, and since I have a single this year I think I'm going to do it all in textiles. Quilts on the walls, blankets over the furniture, throw rugs and cushions scattered on the floor.
The pants are a pair of capri-length pajama pants, which will come in very handy during that time of month*, as they're black and short enough not to be seen under a skirt. The mesh jacket is for wearing when swimming, hopefully the next step in building up my courage to wear my new bikini (Step one: knee-length black t-shirt over it. Step two: small, thin, pale yellow, obscene t-shirt over it. Step three, maybe mesh jacket. If I get brave enough.) We'll see. I told Mom we were spending at the very least a whole day at the beach in Rhode Island next week, so I'll get my chance. I tried it at the pool at one of the hotels in Kentucky but was way too paranoid about falling out of the top to take the t-shirt off. q-:
*The time of month during which I am bleeding from the crotch and feeling too apathetic to do anything about it. I've already ruined all my old pajama pants by wearing them like that.
Oh, did I mention that Mom finally caved and bought a digital camera? Well, she did. I've already run the batteries down-- going out to buy a charger was the original excuse for shopping today.
no subject
Don't forget that many of those 965 are mine.
Can I borrow On Writing sometime? And, d'you want to borrow the first four Dark Tower books?
no subject
I said "our"! I said "restacked and catalogued all of *our* novels" and "*we* have 965"! When I'm cackling over them like Uncle Scrooge though, those ones are mine mine mine! ha ha hA HA HA!
Sure-- I'll bring it down next weekish. Actually I bought Carrie the other week, and I just found out we also have Misery; those are the two he talks about most in On Writing so I think I'll start there.
no subject
Apparently Quonochontaug=Charlestown. Or something. We'll find out. (-:
I haven't read either of those. I should. We don't have 'Salem's Lot, do we? I don't think we do ... that's the next one (non-DT) I want to read.
no subject
Actually it sounds like quite a nice beach on its own, but I did wonder if the location had anything to do with it. q:
somewhere I had gotten the impression that all New England beaches are rocky, but that site is going on about carribean white sand and blue sea. Hmm. We'll see.
no subject