This should be interesting...

From class today.



I sorta rushed to finish this, but I kinda like it. For the record, watercolor does not stay in the lines!

Oh amusement

Some may recall that I went through a phase during which I would write haiku about random stuff. Well, this site is my new favorite! Haiku, funny pictures, politics...what more could you ask for? Here's a sample:



And the text to this picture:

I write on my hand.
It helps me remember stuff,
like "Me = President."

Chemistry will be the death of me.

I tried to post before, but the Internets ate it. Tragic, truly.

Tonight was my final in analytical chemistry (or "anal chem" as Dr. Frost calls it). I really didn't care how I did on it, as I previously calculated that I'd need a 120% to pass the class. My chances of acheiving that? Slim to none, and slim just rode out of town on a fast horse. Oh well. I will have to pass it eventually, but for now, I'm just glad it's over.

Upon pondering why I am so mediocre at school these days, I was reminded by Katie that the science program is intended to weed people out and make them fail. "But why me? Why am I being weeded??" I wailed. "Well", she said gingerly, "I think that most other science majors study. A lot. Like, all day. Hardcore studying." Perhaps she has a point. Perhaps if I cracked a book open once in a while I'd have an easier time. The fact remains, however, that I hate chemistry with an undying passion, and to have to spend any more time on it than I already do would be infinitely more torturous. Alas, the torment of the natural sciences!

In any case, I have one more final this week, and then I'm home free! For the weekend, anyway. Then it's on to the next big adventure, in this case, art classes. They may end up being a bloodbath, but anything's got to be better than analytical!

Unreal.

This has got to be one of the most disturbing things I've ever heard of.

Some select quotes from the article:

Aborted babies used in Russian anti-ageing fad

The foetal stem cell therapy is not only being used to smooth out wrinkles, but is also being injected into other parts of the body to get rid of cellulite and excess flab...

Investigations are currently being carried out into an illegal baby trade that sees impoverished women from Russia and the surrounding countries selling their aborted foetuses to unscrupulous specialists for as little as £100...

"Doctors tell the women or girls that there is a problem with their pregnancy and that the baby has to be aborted, or else they are offered more money," said Shorobogatko...

Russia's oligarchs are continuing to develop the stem cell treatment that will give them eternal youth...

Just, um...wow. That's seriously messed up. To tell a woman that there's something wrong with her baby so you can buy it and sell it at fifty times the price??? Wow. Errr, I don't even really know what to say. There's so much wrong with that that I can't even begin to figure it out. Whose planet have I stumbled upon, and when can I go home?

Evidently.

Evidently, if you're rich and famous, you can molest children and get away with it.

Evidently, if you have a Ph.D, even if you hate what you teach and are bored with life in general, you're allowed to be a chem professor.

Evidently, if you lose seven pounds in a week and a half, people go ape-shit.

Evidently, if your bilirubin is up, it means your liver is messed up.

Evidently, I've lost all talent for writing. Meh.

I delight in being ornery.

Well, friends, I admit it: I am my therapist's worst nightmare. Really I am. I am bitter and sarcastic, and I question almost every suggestion put forth. As I have been sick lately, I have been struggling with eating, which is not such a good situation for a recovering anorexic. This was of some concern to both my therapist and myself, so as I was leaving, she insisted that I stop at the friendly neighborhood Wawa to get something to eat before class. "But what should I eat?" I asked. "Don't ask me that!" said she. "But there's nothing gooood...." I whinged. "Oh don't be ornery," she said, with a glare that said, 'you are testing my patience, Lisa, of which I have a lot. So cut it out' (yes all that from a single look!).

So I am ornery. Cantankerous. Quarrelsome. Yup. That's about right. It's not that I set out to be that way. It's just that I'm, erm, a bit stubborn, one might say. I know I really shouldn't be this way, especially with someone who is trying so hard to help me out. Especially with someone I'm paying to help me out! Nevertheless, I find myself arguing and ranting and whining to a superlative degree. I happen to believe it's part of the healing process for me. Gives me some sense of control. If I went along with every suggestion without a fight, I'd be the same spineless twit that got herself into this mess in the first place. So I whine and complain and counter every thought with a twisted-logic gem, and somehow my therapist, God bless her, puts up with all of it. We have a good working relationship. Even if I am "that patient".

The Mystery Illness returns.

I have been sick now for about four days. Four. In the past 50 hours I have eaten 2 crackers and 3 spoonfuls of cous-cous. Doing good. How bout that eating disorder recovery! Yeah! Anyway. If I could just stop throwing up, life would be good. I went to the Health Center. I was there for about an hour, yet they provided me with no health. They gave me some lovely drugs (Tigan, Zantac) and a bottle of Gatorade to boot. My lucky day. Oh yeah, and I'm not pregnant, which is always a plus, though that was fairly obvious to me, but I do whatever makes the good doctor happy, so whatever.

I got a phone call today from the hospice volunteer coordinator. I was afraid it was the dreaded, "She died" phone call, but in fact, it was a phone call in which they were wondering if I had died. Nah. Just been busy. Then away. Then sick, then busy, then sick again. So I've been slightly neglecting my patient. I feel awful about that, but at least I know she's still alive and I can make ammends.

In any case. I'm hoping I feel better pretty soon. I can't handle this shit. I feel like I'm going to pass out. Matter o' fact, I'm going to go to bed now. I am going to attempt to actually go to class tomorrow. Eep.

The internets live!

I have not in fact fallen off the face of the earth. My internet has been down for almost exactly one week. I had a fun time trying to get them to fix it. I called the company twice, with no results. So I figured that by the third call, I was fully authorized to throw an official shit-fit. Which I did. I called, and they put me on hold for ten minutes. Nononono. So I called back and said (with a snide and sarcastically cheerful tone to my voice), "Hi, I just called and was put on hold for ten minutes, and I'm approaching furious, so you need to find me someone to talk to." The woman was slightly freaked out, replied, "Yes ma'am", and then I spoke to a lovely technician named Josh who helped me try to figure out the issue. Good old Josh, he probably lives in his parents' basement, but he was a swell guy, who, even though he didn't get the problem fixed right then, was very cordial and promised to see what he could do. Less than 24 hours later, my internet lives, and life is good once again.

In any case, my 21st birthday was a good time. I only had three drinks, but they were quite good. It was unfortunate that the band at 15th North sucked that night, but it was quite entertaining that my older brother (who I haven't seen in ages!) bought me an apple martini, which may or may not be my new favorite drink. All around, it was good times.

Since then, I've been sick, busy, sick, busy, sick, and then busy again. Not much of a life, to be sure. However, I have worked in time for painting and occasional napping, so it can't be all that bad, right?