my hair looks good today

I've moved three times now because the bees here seem to be following me in my every move, it's a little hot, and the dishwasher splashed water all over me through the window in which he was washing and beneath which i was sitting, but it would be difficult to make me more peaceful.

I came here to write and have a delicious glass of iced tea, and I accomplished both of my goals. Here I sit, writing and drinking tea, and it is Thursday, my favorite day. The music played in this joint is so ambiguous that the fire truck sirens resounding in the distance, leaving the the station in search of flames to stifle, seem to be a counter melody to it's harmony. 

Probably the most beautiful of days since I've gotten back from my break in the canyon, Austin has given me so much with it's sunshine and smiles. I wish this was what life really looked like. That look that promises that everything will be just this way tomorrow. That look that sings the melody of the entire city taking a deep breath. I have said before that the "woo" is one of the greatest sounds I know. The "woo" is what brings people together. But, in this case it is the "hum" of small conversation and individual people enjoying themselves, doing the things humans do, without worry. 

The Canyon was a good time. It was that moment of life that you say to yourself, "this is wonderful. School... not so wonderful, but I can appreciate it because I am supposed to." No one ever says, "get your hiking done," or "make sure you fly a kite today." Someone says, "I really should be studying right now," and the rest of us grumble together as our hammers fall to the side of the road and our slave tunes recommence. 

Of course, yes, this life is only just one inch in a mile worth of span-extension chord. What does it matter to do anything? You've got to work a little to enjoy a little. Thats terrible. I would rather work and enjoy. So, that's what the Canyon did for me, I guess. It was that kind of reminder that work and pleasure should not be mixed, but enjoyed simultaneously. 

So, on to trying new things, eh? I've been loving limes. If you think about it, a lime is one of God's perfect little things that, without it, one might not notice, but with it, one's eyes are opened to an entirely new sensory experience. My love for limes began when I noticed that one of my roommates had cleaned the dinner table off and placed a few limes in a bowl in the center. The beautiful green color of the freshest thing was burned into my mind. I wish I could paint to tell the world what I saw. I then, after seeing the beauty, decided to enjoy them otherwise.

And, it's been a success. A royal success. A purple, velvety, plum, desire, royal success. 

Tales from the creepiest building on campus

An update on me right-er now. I'm in a creepy hallway that reminds me of the school used in various teen-horror flicks as Swimfan, and, well others. Swimfan mostly. Did anyone else see that? CREEPY. 

This building has to be one of the oldest on campus, given the gargoyles keeping watch from the roof and the elevator that takes 10 minutes to get to the fourth floor. Also, there are windows on the doors of the classrooms and offices that are that speckly, textured glass, circa 1965. The door of my classroom has a mail slot. Who gets mail in a classroom? The hallway is long and brown, with linoleum flooring and green cork boards. There's a chair across from me that seems as if it has been mauled by a hungry cougar. Why a cougar would want to eat a chair, I'm not sure of. But, I'm sure the writers of Swimfan would know. They did shoot their film in this hallway. 

I'm serious, this chair is ridiculously frightening to be an inanimate object. It's unloved tweed fabric hangs off of it as it slowly sinks away with newness of the building. It sits alone as if waiting for someone important to notice it and give it new life. Or, maybe it's just waiting for me to be sitting in it with my hands tied behind my back and my mouth gagged because the psycho TA who had been waiting in his office for me to walk by finally got his wish. 

Probably not. But, you never know.

I think, now, more than ever, I'm afraid of a school shooting happening here. I'm surprised that, in the wake of recent tragedy at Virginia, copycats haven't targeted us yet.  There was one other school just recently. The guy hid behind a projector screen and took out nearly a full classroom. UT has 55,000 students. What is stopping just one person from doing that? It happened in the 60s. My dad was in school here when Charles Whitman climbed to the top of the main building tower and opened fire. You're not allowed to go to the top of tower anymore, but that's not where all of these recent shootings have been taking place. 

It's scary to be at the biggest school in the nation sometimes. Not just because of the constant threat of violence, but because of the threat of getting lost in the wake of so many other people around you being so successful. I think to myself sometimes that there is no way I will get a job after I graduate. There are so many other people competing against me from my own school. My GPA is not good enough, which is constantly weighing me down. I don't know how to shake it, other than to choose to not let it guide my decisions. I feel like I'm not the only person that feels this way. No matter your GPA, students here are all scared out of their minds about what is to become of them. Some of my friends that have already graduated and haven't found "real jobs" are among those. Then again, there's the possibility that God may put me in a place that has nothing to do with PR. Ok. I guess I'm ok with that. But, why am I here?

I'll take a Thursday, please.

Sitting on a wooden bench, looking through Thunderbird windows, I realize how much I adore Thursdays. 

I've almost finished 2/3 of my Soy Vanilla Chai, my personal drink of choice since JoJo let me try hers during finals last year. They don't even ask what I want here anymore, they just say, "that'll be $3.13, please." and begin to make my drink. That may be part of the reason I love Thursdays. Not that I predict my friends here will make my drink every time, but it's always a pleasant surprise.

Every aspect of my Thursdays is great. No school. I get up around 9 am, read the paper, actually make my breakfast, watch a little Ellen, and then the rest of my day is determined by chance. Today, I've chosen the celebratory studying route. And, by celebratory, I mean, I haven't studied much at all since January 15th, and I'm celebrating my return to commitment.

Last week, I received a phone call on Thursday, saying "Sarah. It's a beautiful day. Let's take pictures of it." And, off we went -- skipping classes and group meetings in search of the sunset. Not to be cheesy in saying that, but we actually found what we were looking for. 

It is Valentine's Day today, though. So, hopefully, I will be placing a picture close to this one, but with better looking people in it next Thursday. Actually, I know I will. I have to. I commit here and now that every Thursday will be worth documenting. 

I get hungry when I'm fasting

Sometimes, you just don't know what to expect. 

At the turn of this year, for example, I had my year fully planned out. I would take the classes I'm scheduled for, stay home on Thursday nights because my best friends have fled the country, and see my boyfriend on the weekend. 

What I have gotten so far is - ok, I am taking the classes I need, but they are pretty much boring. I have been able to reconnect with some old friends through them, friends from MoCo. (By the way, did you know that Montgomery College is now LONESTAR COLLEGE? Weird.) I have made new friends. Kimber, Latane, Cessie, and I went to Midnight Rodeo last night. Danced in a completely ridiculous line dance for about 20 minutes, and then jetted. I mean, it really was the hustle, but some hip hop guy threw in a "walk it out" in and labeled it his own. Also, I don't see my boyfriend every weekend. It just doesn't happen. And, it may not even work out to live in the same town this summer and fall. It sucks a little. I was really looking forward to it. So, if it winds up not working out, I might be upset, but I might be surprised by other opportunities, as this year has already displayed.

Also, Jen has really red eyes today. I think it's because she's stoned. Jen.

The Jortz

So...today was the day that Kimber and I made a band. It began as a pitch effort to write a song composed of three elements: outdoors, sunshine, and cleverness. The entire ordeal began in a dream I had while sleeping...I don't have dreams otherwise. I fell asleep in the end of Nacho Libre, the last moment I viewed of the movie consisted of a man in gold flailing his massive body atop Jack Black. (Not, white.) I awoke with a vision. A vision about a band. A band with Kimber.

We took our own feet to the park down the street. I thought of taking my bike- her, a longboard (not short) but that just wouldn't do. I think we needed some time to be inspired together on our walk down the street. It was chilly and grey, and the cars passed by us as if fleeing from some sort of monster - and soon we might have been considered to have "entered the belly of the beast." That beast, the song.

Together, we trekked down toward a few folks, one sitting on a picnic table, the others leaning around on each other. Other folks were gathered around, expectantly. A group of 14 year-old teensters awaited our arrival as if a gang waiting in an ally for an old woman to wander in, dropping off some trash. One of the girls approached us.

"Hey, can we listen to you guys play?" she snarled. I could see in her eyes the look of predation while her "peeps" ran away. I was sure at that time that the runaways aimed to locate backup---with loaded guns. 

Kimber and I sat down- ready to chow on a meal of music-making. Suddenly, our lives changed.

A group of dogs arose from the depths of houses behind the neighborhood chain-link fence. Behind them, a lone woman, wearing tights and a fanny pack. Following behind, the most enormous dog either of us had ever seen. (I thought he resembled some sort of triceratops/rhinoceros, without those crazy flat horn things, of course.) Needless to say, we named him Curtis.

Curtis walked slow. He sometimes lay down on the wet grass, resting his bones, slowly being crushed by his perpetually engrossing skin/fat matter. Curtis breathed heavily and it became clear to us that he relied solely on the constant reassurance from the woman in the tights to continue living.

If Curtis were a man, he would smoke a pipe and eat Pork Rhines on Thursday afternoons.

In addition to Curtis was a heard of dogs, large and small. And, just one lady, with a fanny pack. The dogs answered her every movement, while still retaining their individuality in chasing balls and smelling one another. 

Kimber and I could not quite understand why such a woman might own so many dogs? Small and large? Dogs? Lady with dogs? And, immediately we knew- our first song would be about her. And, her amazing hoard of pups. 

Our band is called The Jortz. Look out for us on MySpace. 

"Hands up, guns out, represent the World Town."

Movement?