2014 :: 2013
2012 :: 2011 :: 2010 :: 2009
2008 :: 2007 :: 2006 :: 2005
2004 :: 2003 :: 2002 :: 2001



Roommate's blog: "It's 30 degrees out. She, in shorts and t-shirt, decides it's cold in the suite. 80 degrees in here. Fool. (forcefully)"

Later it is. Y'know, I don't appreciate this much—and sure, it's not on my blog, so I don't have to appreciate it, but nonetheless...I didn't touch the thermostat. I agreed with the person who did touch the thermostat, as the two of us sat shivering, but I surely wasn't the only one interested in heating this place up a bit. You assume it was my doing, and only address me—what am I to do when my partner in crime, oblivious, fails to turn around and talk to you?

For some reason the one person in this suite who's almost always cold is now suddenly too hot. I understand that you can't control what a temperature feels like to you at a given time, but still, that also means that we can't control it, either. We're all a bunch of little hothouse plants, oh-so-delicate. Oh, and by the way, I'm not wearing shorts, though I'll allow that it might've just been a convenient bit of hyperbole.

In any case, if you don't think I'm hearing you when you tell me about stories I haven't read and won't read, well, it's because I'm usually wrapped up in the intricacies of what's happening with my computer screen. This has been my pattern for, oh, the past year or so. I'm still suspending judgment on whether this is a good thing, but so it goes. While I know "It's always been that way" justifies nothing, these are things I do. You just don't know how much of a jerk I am yet. (My mental jury is still out as to whether my supposed jerkiness is my failing or a failing on the part of my observers, although I have noted decided tendencies in myself toward hypocrisy, so I figure the observers have somethin' goin' for 'em.)

On the historic oppression side of things, I've gotta mention that, y'know, I come from a house where less than 58 degrees is standard for my room in the winter, 80-plus degrees standard in the summer, as the heating and air conditioning are left off as long as we human inhabitants can stand it and still live. (I generally argue that historic oppression doesn't equal entitlement, and I stick by that...I'm just making a point.) It's damned refreshing to be able to change the temperature at will and to be able to live without the requisite two long-sleeve shirts, a sweater, and the ever-present blanket.

- - -

Something I find necessary to note is that the landings on the stairs in Eads Hall on main campus make a series of pleasant resounding thumps as I trundle down them. You might not find that important, but really, that's one of the things that made my day interesting, aside from the obvious huge headline across the top of the opinion section, "Can someone please tell Shawn Redden to shut up?" One guy gave me flak for the letter's angry tone, but almost all the others I encountered today gave me mad props. The letter was hypocritical and out-of-hand, sure, but that was supposed to be my so-subtle-you-don't-catch-it sense of irony shining through, the she's-enjoying-this-way-too-much aspect of it all carrying the day. You know, deadpan sarcasm.

One more thing before I call it quits:

By way of explanation, these song lyrics I put at the end of or interspersed within posts are usually from songs that simply jump into my head before I realize what mood or bit of thought they're meant to go with...but something about each, whether it be the lyrics, the tone it happens to be sung in, or the minor key it's composed in, jibes with something going on internally, so I write it down as a key mental expression. My mind plays songs for me—what does yours do?

2:14 am, November 06, 2003 :: the jablog years

You should follow me on Twitter.