Random Samplings

:)

My brain is anticipating Thanksgiving Break this week and thus is completely useless as of late. I can't motivate myself to do anything!

I feel like this blog entry is going to be as scattered as the rest of my mental output.

A few things:

A. I hate gilded relationships
B. I was elected PSP Scholarship chair (following in my Big's footsteps!)
C. Dr. Appold took myself and three other cool St. Paul Lutheran goers to lunch in Memphis and it was fantastic! (I ordered the Reuben, equally as wonderful!)
D. Emily Fassi will be living avec moi et Mary next semester. I'm excited! We are hoping to get a piano aussi!

Distracted

Although studying the rediscovery of the Mosaic Torah is interesting, I thought I'd take a quick break from Hebrew Scriptures to vomit.

Word vomit, that is.

Nothing mean or sharp. I'd just like to type the word disappointment and hopefully feel better.

Poetry and blogging have been two fantastic sources of mental acupuncture. And although these little entries may seem insignificant, they help.

On a different subject. I might be wrong, but I think I'm being stalked in the library. If I didn't have so much homework, I'd experiment by moving around.

I dumped 20 books into the library return slot.

My stress went with them.

Poem I wrote in Calc:

find the rate of change in me, x
where I seek infinity. +
define me unambiguously; x
that I may be solved =
mathematically. 2x

platitude

I attribute most of my academic success to the clever usage of post it notes.

Currently, I have five adorning my room.

Waiting to Rise

I can feel the dough beneath my fingers
press into the crevices of my hand.
I knead and pound, the way my mother did
and my grandmother before her,
forcefully ravaging the mixture of
flour, sugar, and yeast
to produce the sweet bread.
The recipe is known well to me,
a tradition I can remember, manifest
and taste.
Our history, though slightly distant here
is sensed in the aroma of Hallah,
and all the pounding.
All that is left,
all that one can do now,
is wait for the yeast to rise.

This poem is an iridescent string
pulled
from a cavity on my person.
One would think the string might
dissipate into the dry air,
but it remains.
How wonderful to have the line outside of me
away from the
abstract
and the realm of forms.
There it is:
an iridescent line,
proving my existentance and potential
immortality.