Q: What do you get when you walk back from a swimming session to your apartment in 27* F weather without bothering to dry your hair first?
Yep. My hair froze in its usual waves, and I didn't notice until I heard the wind jingle something against the back of my trench coat collar. It sounded cool, like I had wind chimes on my head, and my roommates were impressed when I walked in with a head full of rattling curls, but it didn't feel all that good once the chill approached my scalp. Brrr.
I'm almost done with most of my end-of-semester assignments (most of which are due the day of the final, hooray), so right now I'm concentrating on surviving without digging into my chocolate stash and studying to make sure I get the grades I want. While it's reassuring knowing that you literally cannot flunk a class due to the work you've done and the points you've accumulated (or several classes, as the case appears to be for me), there's no reason to decide that the job's done and drop everything on the spot.
Granted, I'm very tempted to do that, since I have several piles of yarn and four new pairs of knitting needles just begging to be used, but, as with all things, work comes before playtime. I have to study for my finals and take them before I can start hibernating with several pounds of acrylic, cotton, bamboo, wool, angora, and alpaca and a pair of pointy sticks.
I have no idea where Dr. Moreau is now. We've been incommunicado since the day before Thanksgiving. I hope he's well, and that he ends up just serving someone coffee for his entire deployment. The man's been acting too thoroughly convinced that someone's going to kill him over there.
Knitting has to be better therapy for this kind of separation than stuffing my face. At least I can wear the result fashionably, and I have a ready weapon for stabbing anyone who makes an off-color remark about my choice in boyfriends.
Yep. My hair froze in its usual waves, and I didn't notice until I heard the wind jingle something against the back of my trench coat collar. It sounded cool, like I had wind chimes on my head, and my roommates were impressed when I walked in with a head full of rattling curls, but it didn't feel all that good once the chill approached my scalp. Brrr.
I'm almost done with most of my end-of-semester assignments (most of which are due the day of the final, hooray), so right now I'm concentrating on surviving without digging into my chocolate stash and studying to make sure I get the grades I want. While it's reassuring knowing that you literally cannot flunk a class due to the work you've done and the points you've accumulated (or several classes, as the case appears to be for me), there's no reason to decide that the job's done and drop everything on the spot.
Granted, I'm very tempted to do that, since I have several piles of yarn and four new pairs of knitting needles just begging to be used, but, as with all things, work comes before playtime. I have to study for my finals and take them before I can start hibernating with several pounds of acrylic, cotton, bamboo, wool, angora, and alpaca and a pair of pointy sticks.
I have no idea where Dr. Moreau is now. We've been incommunicado since the day before Thanksgiving. I hope he's well, and that he ends up just serving someone coffee for his entire deployment. The man's been acting too thoroughly convinced that someone's going to kill him over there.
Knitting has to be better therapy for this kind of separation than stuffing my face. At least I can wear the result fashionably, and I have a ready weapon for stabbing anyone who makes an off-color remark about my choice in boyfriends.
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