I Hate Crying.

Let me rephrase that.

I hate it when I cry.

Some people cry so prettily. Their chins dimple and quiver, and silent, solitary tears slide down their pinked cheeks.

When I cry, my face contorts itself into this grotesque pucker, and tears smear themselves every which way on my face. I sob noisily, hardly able to breathe, and my nose runs.

Have you ever seen a film in which a crying woman's nose runs?! No. (If yes, tell me which because I don't believe you.)

A while ago, I decided that I would train myself to cry in a more controlled and attractive manner (I know, this is ridiculous), but I have been unsuccessful because (1) I don't cry all that often and (2) when I do cry, I am too preoccupied with struggling for oxygen to think about how I look.

Now, I have simply decided that Mr. Whoever-it-will-be will have to be Mr. Kleenex-Tissue.

Senioritis?

If you're not familiar with the term senioritis, I'll tell you what it is. It is the feeling that many high school students experience as they approach the end. The symptoms include lack of motivation to go to school, do homework, or participate in any other school-related activity. Basically it is an eager anxiousness to be done and finished with high school. Usually, it is felt by seniors in their fourth year, hence the name, but is often felt by underclassmen as well.

Having said this, I would like to formally state that I have been cured of my senioritis.

Today, we were instructed to clean out our lockers, and as I took down the pictures I had displayed in my locker using magnets, I got the strong desire to decorate my locker. I mean really decorate: to take down the random pictures (which I happen to love) and to put up some fun wallpaper and stuff that is meant to be put in lockers as decor.

Also, as I sat in my Bible class which shares the room with the American Literature class (3rd year English), I sat gazing, as I often do, at the posters that the Juniors had made which displayed various American poets and the layout of "Grover's Corners" from Our Town by Thornton Wilder, and I suddenly got the urge to make a poster display. I want to print out pictures of Emily Dickinson or Charlotte Bronte (with the umlauts) or Ernest Shackleton or Thomas More (yay!) and paste them onto a poster board along with excerpts from poetry or narration or diaries or Utopia and decorate it with stickers and nifty scrapbooking accessories.

It's been such a long time since I have had to make a poster presentation... I didn't appreciate it while I had the chance!

So basically, I'm wondering if there is a term for this state of mind. I suppose it may be simply nostalgia, but I want it to have a spiffy term too as if it were a terminal illness. It's kind of like a mid-life crisis.

I don't know where I'm trying to go with that, so I'll just leave it there.

Oh, by the way, I'm still extremely ready to graduate. Thanks!

Interest

I got an ice cream cone with my best friend this evening. (Well, it was really two ice cream cones between the two of us, but I only had one...)

I asked Amy to hold mine while I returned my wallet to my purse, and as she held it, she walked backwards and, looking over my shoulder, informed me that there was interest. Of course, she just meant that she was taking out interest on my trusting her with my ice cream by taking licks of my strawberry bliss. But, being me, I thought she meant my love interest and quickly turned around to see if he was really behind me.

I was confused for a moment but quickly figured it out when I caught her taking chunks out of my single scoop.

After a moment's thought, I queried why we don't collect love interest while we wait for love. We've invested in something, so we should get something while we wait for him to get a clue, right? I think so.

P.S. I made $0.02 interest this month from my savings account. I'm proud of myself.

Bombardment

Thursday, on the long way home (since the entrances to both of my freeway options were overly crowded), I drove past a large group of those sign-spinner people standing on a corner.

There were at least 20 of them!

They must have been on a break because a lot of them were kind of leaning on their signs and drinking coke, but some of them (some of the younger, more spry ones) were showing off and tossing their arrow-shaped ads in the air and passing them under their legs and attempting (and usually failing) all kinds of stuff.

The whole experience was kind of like when 27 pop-ups all appear on on your screen in one moment. Fortunately, with Mozilla Firefox, I no longer have to deal with that.

(I ought to be paid for this.)