The Thing of My Happiness

Through clever manipulation of the waiting list, my insistent hounding of my adviser, and the inexplicableness of the English department actually adding sections instead of canceling them, I have gotten into another semester of Advanced Fiction. That means another semester of the academic system kicking my ass into actually doing some writing.

Of course, I'd feel better about it if I was actually able to attend the last meeting of my current workshop, but my sisters have seen fit to get married so friggin' close to each other. My bridesboy duties call me to Wisconsin. I'd hate to have all the manscaping I did to look good in the dress go to waste.

But overall, I'm just stoked about getting a chance to have my slacking bottom wound up into gear. I need me one o' them wind-up keys to shove into my behind every so often to get me into gear. Effective plus exciting. Everybody wins.

Alert the CDC! I am diseases!

I'm sick. Awesome. This'll make two out of the last three birthdays where I'll be infected with critters. For twenty, I had mono, what an adventure in laying in bed like a rutted fish. This year, I'll be serving up some unknown throat bid'ness. Nursemom says I ought to go to Urgent Care to get it checked out to see if I need antibiotics if it's strep. I'll do that tomorrow during the time I'd normally be at work, which I've taken off because I have a history of working myself too hard when I'm sick.

I wish I had me some Airborne. And as long as I'm wishing for stuff, I'd also like to wish for the stuff to actually do something. Don't mind me, when I get sick, I get more upset at useless supplements like Airborne and echinacea. I'm bitter like that.

On the looking up and up, I received a bit of lovlies today. I'm officially registered for another semester of Advanced Fiction. There's another semester of the academic setting forcing me to get some writing done in store for this guy. *thumbs in*

imagine this here thingum

I'd like for us to to go on a wondrous mind adventure on the magic carpet of our imaginations. Grab your fruit snacks and juice boxes, and away we go!:

Let's say that the ruling elite of this country came together to publish a book that was basically a serious of essays about how the world worked and how it ought to be run. It's a book that serves their interests, maintains the legitimacy of their position, and reinforces their methods and ideology.

Now fast forward a few thousand years and zoom halfway across the world. That book is no longer opinion but considered to be the end-all of all instruction and morality, though when it was written, it was just the opinions of those already in power. While it would likely make some very good points and may very well have been useful at the time it was written, ultimately it's a text that was written to be relevant for a civilization so far removed from the one that reveres it that using it as a road map of unquestionable truth to base every decision on would be pretty dang-ole preposterous.

You'd think, huh?