So the kangaroo goes to an eagle called Vlad - one who has an accent that stresses his Vampire status - and Vlad promises to 'deflower' the spec .... a kid's movie? Really? Is it just my mind that associates a vampire who deflowers a spec with sexual connotations?*
Wii Fit: my new addiction. It started with Wii Sport but now moved to Wii Fit. They have to come up with a new game soon before this one wears me out.
Now back to my book. Conference paper won't write itself, unfortunately.
The English Department feels a duty to display all the budding talents of its students. The works of our poets, playwrights, artists and researchers all culminate in the annual English Day, and everyone is invited to share our success!Poisoned Mind
The air was damp. A misty cool breeze blew… causing diminutive waves to crash on jagged but softened rocks at the bottom of the cliff. The sun’s vicious beams refracted off the rock’s tarnished yet gleaming glaze. Seagulls sang as they glided over the sea… fluttering against the waves. She leaned back against one of the rocks, focusing her weight on the center of her back. Her blouse felt moist and cold. She gripped hard at the papers in her hands… twisting them firmly in her clutch. Her rheum eyes started to burn as she stared across the infinite blue… and with a single blink tears ran down her face. why? she thought. A strike of pain shot in her chest and flashbacked several diminished slides in the screening of her mind “WHY?” she yelled. Her voice echoed in the empty space not quite as empty as her heart. But there was no answer… for there never is an answer to pain. Whimpering… she gradually loosened her grip… and the papers hovered into the sea. The writing started to fade as the ink merged with the water causing a dark blotch near her feet. She was free. Free from her pain. The papers were completely drenched now, unlike her body however, they did not drown…
A Stone in My Chest
There is a cold stone in my chest. I can feel it. Buried deep… ripping and tearing through my warm soft flesh. There is pain. No bodily pain…just mental pain… mental annoyance; my cognizant awareness of its existence inside me. Deep inside me. It cannot be removed, no surgery will rid me of it, no surgeon will agree to it. A curse. A burden. A burden I must carry with me to my grave… where a stone naturally belongs… where I belong. The pain it afflicts is on those closest to me, those who suffer the most. I cannot seem to help it. I cannot seem to want to help it. I do not seem to care… all symptoms of my disease. My sole disease… soul disease. There is no cure. I must coldly shudder off every shred of emotion as I slip into a circle of darkness…almost as dark as that stone.
demanding that flags should be on display this month. I personally think it's a bit tacky and in bad taste. But my mother obliged (as she always does with her grandkids) and we now have a huge flag hanging from the 2nd floor balcony all the way down to the 7osh, blocking the sun from my plants on the 1st floor. Patriotic acts destroying nature again.
School:
There comes a time, every term, when I have this sense of waiting anxiously for the final papers to arrive while simultaneously dreading the many P’s I have to assign for plagiarized papers, the many redundancies I read, and the pure loss of focus that is common in most papers. However, almost every term, there are a few papers that make the time spent on the other 30-40 papers worth my while. This year was no exception. Some students still surprise me by their ability to interrogate theoretical articles and work them within the folds of their literary analyses. So gratitude goes here to those few students who have made the long task of correcting papers quite enjoyable. The highlights this year were those papers on J.K. Rowling, Paulo Coelho, and Tsitsi Dangarembga.
Mysteries:
“All doubts about the identity of the Mona Lisa have been eliminated by a discovery by Dr. Armin Schlechter.” And once its mystery has been solved, its greatness is no wonder lessened. Why is it that we always need to find answers to problems only to discover that answering them takes all the magic out of life? Mysteries should remain mysteries. Otherwise, life would just be too dull.
And more mysteries:
Newspapers announced that Saturday exams are postponed till Tuesday. Since faculty members haven’t received any official word, I called to inquire, only to be informed that the director is in a meeting with the deans now (11 am today) to decide on it. We must be really technologically advanced when the newspaper, printed the night before, can predict the outcome of a meeting that was still ongoing during the day :)
The beach in summer is an amazing place. To swim. To tan.
In the process of moving to a new place, remodeling needs an effort on my part that I am not willing to make. Excited about moving closer to my family (that's absolutely funny if you know how close my current house is), but not so excited about the actual moving day. So I make my choices in a rush. This color's fine, this bathroom fixture's fine, this piece of furniture's fine, this wall's fine. Just get it done with.
My eldest brother just moved into his new house. His first house away from the family. While excited about their new home, I can't help but feel things changing. And I'm not sure I like the change. It isn't anything negative. It just feels like the beginning of a new type of life for them, and by extension, for the rest of their family: us. Not willing to completely let them go, our visits to their house extend longer than we plan. We seem to agree that there is a certain amount of comfort and relaxation during the time we spend there. We're making their new home our home somehow. At least I am. (I've long claimed a certain corner to be mine, and I am not joking about that)
Deciding to enjoy the weather, pushed to do so by an invisible book club member, I decided to take my book club to Shuwaikh Beach. The weather was enjoyable. Talk about the book was scanty. Leo the African seems too historical, and maybe too dense for my current book club members. They demand lighter books. But I am not anxious to take it a notch down. Thinking of dismantling this book club.
My eldest is coming home for a visit. It's his first year away from home. His first time to leave 'the nest'. Luckily we have the Eid vacation coming up just in time so I can spend time with him. Of course that is assuming he'd actually give his family any attention :)
A dream I had last night about losing a loved one is still haunting me. Why is it that emotions provoked by a matter of pure imagination stick to you like reality no matter how much you tell yourself it's just a dream?
