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No, really, it's fucking COLD in here. What the hell is this? As my mother affirmed last night, we spend way too much money on this stupid institution of higher education for me to be anything less than toasty warm and happy as a fucking clam.
(Letting go of the bitterness... letting go...)
I'll turn all the lights on. Waste some electricity. Anything to retain use of appendages.
Damnit, I miss summer. I miss my job, mostly for the field. There are no wide open spaces here. Nothing to surge into, nothing that makes me want to fly.
The Innocence Mission has a new album out, one I'm sorely tempted to buy. Such a rare group, they are, with an unfailing sweetness to their sound that never borders on grating. Only pure, and hopeful, and often joyous. Birds of my Neighborhood is the best kind of Sunday morning music, and it's lifted me from my own dark clutches more times than I care to recall.
I hope Mountain Day is Wednesday. Any other day and it's wasted for me.
(Letting go of the bitterness... letting go...)
I'll turn all the lights on. Waste some electricity. Anything to retain use of appendages.
Damnit, I miss summer. I miss my job, mostly for the field. There are no wide open spaces here. Nothing to surge into, nothing that makes me want to fly.
The Innocence Mission has a new album out, one I'm sorely tempted to buy. Such a rare group, they are, with an unfailing sweetness to their sound that never borders on grating. Only pure, and hopeful, and often joyous. Birds of my Neighborhood is the best kind of Sunday morning music, and it's lifted me from my own dark clutches more times than I care to recall.
I hope Mountain Day is Wednesday. Any other day and it's wasted for me.
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