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I have come to realize that English Class = Suffering for me, and there's just no way around it. I can't serenely write my paper one day at a time, nor can I complete it in an apotheosis of creativity; all I can do is suffer, stress, and sweat it out, which is what I did last night. I got my rough draft submitted before the deadline, hooray. Too bad it was under length. Oh well, last night I hit my suffering threshhold, so I had to bounce back up this morning, and it happened on my way to work. When I pulled out of the alley, there was a cop behind me on 12th Ave. For several blocks two other cyclists and I played "we-are-so-law-abiding" with him, stopping at red lights, waiting for them to turn green, riding single file. Then the cyclist behind me said, "He's gone!" and, on cue, we all start pedalling furiously, running the red lights, and more or less reverting to our normal anarchistic behavior. I found it very amusing. It was nice having Mikhael visit us; we miss him already. My back tat is looking good, and healing up okay. I posted pics on Facebook. I plan to do some marathon laundry and housecleaning tonight; hopefully that will help me jettison the last of my blues. Current Location: verk Current Mood: calm
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I woke up this morning with a song in my head. It's called "Stardust" and if you've spoken/texted with me recently, you can guess the artist. The chorus contains theses lyrics: In a stardust cloud, hey, rock-n-roll king is down Stardust is the glittery debris left by a cosmic act of magnificent destruction. It's also the surname of David Bowie's tragic rock hero. No coincidence, I think. It seems to me that all the really good rockstars have something messianic about them, something of the splendid martyr. Here I am, they say, and I am powerful and poetic and I will feel your pain for you and make it into something beautiful, even if it destroys me. So we flock to them, eager for the absolution, and the ecstacy, longing for immortality from the touch of their hand. We perpetuate the myth, because we are human, and silly. I may have reached this conclusion because I've been reading Heinlein. Does understanding obsession lessen its power? Also, I hate typing in the morning, because my stupid MS tremor is really pronounced. I need, like, Copaxone-Flakes for breakfast. Lol. >:( Current Location: chez moi Current Mood: contemplative
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