abigailnicole: (OMG)
 because I can't bear to close them. But tonight! tonight I am!

thank you, that will be all.

abigailnicole: (Default)

raining here in New Orleans; I could be doing homework but am instead choosing to sit around being surly and looking at mixtes on the internet. Just got back from a long-car-trip Thanksgiving (~12 hours in a car each way NOLA to KY) and thus am craving bike rides. Since it’s raining and blah outside this means not so much riding my bike (after all, the aforementioned homework) as reading bike blogs. 

I had my last med school interview while I was at home, at the University of Kentucky, in the rain. It’s a good school with a huge brand-new hospital. Classes only last from eight to noon your first two years so you have afternoons to study. The girl next to me was wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit and had a Bumpits in her hair. When we left the girl I walked out with said: “I can’t wait go to home and put on sweatpants.” I stood on S. Limestone in the rain in my black pencil skirt and black blazer with a rainbow umbrella and put my heels on a pink X that was spray-painted on the sidewalk. A house on the street had thick leaves all over their yard, and for some reason the red, orange, and brown against the green looked extra saturated in the lack of other colors, the asphalt, the sidewalk. 

I felt disappointed. 

My boyfriend’s second-choice school is going back home to Oregon, to have to live in Portland and go to Portland State. You know, a city, where everyone rides bicycles, and there are cute things everywhere and all kinds of mid-twenties hipsters doing whatever makes their little artsy hearts happy. There are good and bad sides to this, of course, but I am tired of trying to be objective about this: living in a rural area is pretty terrible. I know. I did it for eighteen years. You’re isolated, you don’t have a lot of friends and none that live close to you, you entertain yourself, you shop at department stores in suburbs you have to drive an hour to get to and you feel dazzled by the selection when you get there. Eating at Red Lobster is exotic because it’s expensive and seafood and you don’t live anywhere near the ocean and for that matter, you don’t live anywhere near the Red Lobster, either.  Maybe once a month you go to the movies. You go to work and come home every night and watch television, because there’s nothing else going on anyway. The center of your social life is your church, or work if you’re lucky to be working with other people you like/get along with. 

It’s not what I want anymore. I’m tired of being okay with it.  I am jealous of my friends—what, that ridiculous 70% of that Tulane population, and 99% of my friends—that went to private school. I didn’t. I didn’t get special attention; there was none to be had. I did the best with what I could. I am jealous of my friends who were from big cities, who had drama departments and art departments at their schools, who had neighbors they could go visit, and small theatres and local bakeries and restaurants and parties and bicycles and new bookstores and used bookstores and record stores and art galleries and coffeeshops. We don’t. I never did. 

I’ve been struggling all through college not to be bitter about it, but I am. I dated someone who made fun of how uncultured I was, who looked down on me and was embarrassed to go to nice restaurants with me because I couldn’t pronounce the names of food. I AM UNCULTURED. Everything I know about culture I had to learn myself from the internet. I didn’t have it growing up. I still can’t eat rice with chopsticks and feel stupid and embarrassed when I inevitably drop it all over myself trying. I don’t know how to order sushi, I never ate sushi until I came to college. I don’t know what wines go with what foods because they aren’t even legally allowed to sell alcohol where I live. I’ve never seen a Shakespeare play performed, where would I have? I’ve never seen a ballet, or an opera. My written vocabulary is much, much greater than my spoken vocabulary and I pronounce words wrong. I’ve only read them, after all.

Which is what I did have, really. I read everything. I still read everything someone hands me, everything I get my hands on, I read indiscriminately and don’t buy books unless I’ve already read them. And that was fine for eighteen years (probably more like sixteen). But it’s not fine anymore, and I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to get used to it again, and I want to do things with my life. 

It is disappointing. Kentucky loves to dress down. If you can wear sweatpants and a tshirt you do. In high school I wore jeans everyday; I sometimes wanted to wear a skirt, but felt embarrassed when I did, like I stuck out in the hallways because no one else was. They still don’t. It’s like daily life isn’t worth getting dressed up for, isn’t really worth putting in a lot of effort. And in the rain and grey of Lexington, waiting on the side of the road in uncomfortable shoes, watching all the people in their cars and no one smiling, it seemed all more depressing than I could stand.  
abigailnicole: (Default)

the equinox
me, taken by my boyfriend, september equinox 2011
(I like very few pictures taken of myself and this one I like a lot.) 



today the weather is cold (cold, so cold, it was 58 when I awoke and is all the way up to 64 now) and wonderful and instead of enjoying it I am inside completing secondary apps for medical school.


they say things like

"Give an example of personal feedback in the last few years that was difficult to receive. How did you respond?"


"The most meaningful achievements are often non-academic in nature. Describe the personal non-academic accomplishment that makes you most proud. Why is this important to you?"


"Describe a problem in your life.  Include how you dealt with it and how it influenced your growth."


which are of course the kind of things on secondary applications. It is just exhausting to answer more than fifteen "DESCRIBE YOUR ENTIRE LIFE FROM THEN UNTIL NOW AND YOUR FUTURE PLANS AND WHY" questions at a time. I don't want to talk about timelines (please don't mention/ask) and goals and the various medschool "what? why do I wanna do this? WHAT IF I DON'T" freakouts I've had over the past few months, especially summer. There is no past and no future and there is only the purity of color and the way the wind sometimes feels like fabric against your skin, and the way the ends of your hair split into such fine pieces that you can only see them as golden lines in the light. 

Since reading Gravity's Rainbow it is harder for me to worry about little things. I think this is a good thing. I have a sense of perspective which certainly makes my mental state better: there is no bomb going to be dropped on me. How can you worry about wordcounts and deadlines when a.) there is no V2 rocket hanging over your head and b.) you know something beautiful and meaningful exists in the world? I cannot. I am calmly giving this my best shot, telling them what they want to know, and leaving it at that. Sometimes I need to stop and make tea and bake a cake and go to lunch or ride my bike around in this lovely weather and that is just how it is. I will work on it and get it done on time. 

I need this equanimity now. Last night I dreamed both my thesis readers came to me and said: "we need to read your thesis RIGHT NOW" and awoke relieved that I had a solid 50 pages to give them, with specific spots marked that I was working on and writing for. I saw one of my thesis readers last night, on Magazine Street. It was Art for Art's Sake, which is an event where the dozens of art galleries on Magazine street have open houses and each one has free wine and food. I walked up and down Magazine for three hours and lost track of how much wine and how many tiny sandwiches and tiny desserts I ate. My professor was walking into a little gallery near Napoleon and I said hello, asked him how he was enjoying the art. "I just got here," he replied, to which I said: "Well, you better start on the refreshments!"  My mother has raised me to be a charming, hospitable person who is capable of making small talk, and she is a wonderful perfect lady. 

Our favorite exhibit (mine and my boyfriend's) was at a little art school near Jefferson, which I've walked past many times but never entered. One room had 3D paintings--sculptures that hung on the walls and came out from them, unpainted clay that came out from the wall. Many of them were distorted, like photos taken with a wide-angle lens. One had death walking through the streets, second-line style, in a suit with an umbrella. Another had a nude woman standing in front of a mirror: on the other side of the mirror was another sculpture of a woman, standing in the same position, in a room full of 3D objects. I wanted it to be lit from within. The woman was connected to the sculpture only by the slightest connection at her elbow: she hung there, torso suspended in air, held in place only by her reflection. 

Yesterday I wanted ginger ale and so came home and made my own ginger soda: this is very easy. You boil equal parts sugar and water and however much you feel of sliced ginger, then add seltzer water. When I opened the seltzer water it spewed all over my clothes (the first long-sleeved shirt of the season) and I was upset for all of five minutes. When I checked the ingredients on seltzer water it said the following: "CARBONATED WATER." The CO2 diffused and the water evaporated. I took a nap on the square of sunshine on my bed and my shirt dried. Are all my problems so small? 
abigailnicole: (Default)

biiiiiiiiicycles. Here is the History Official between me & my bicycle---

I had a bike. it was a sad chain-superstore-bike my grandparents got me and I rode it around occassionally the first two years of college. when I moved off campus I had to ride it more often and unsurprisingly it got stolen (as it had a terrible lock). I was not super sad about this because I was never very attached to this bicycle. It was red. 

I did not buy a new bicycle right away. I had a bunch of friends in the Tulane Benevolent Societyfor the Propagation of Assorted Tomfoolery and Other Sorts of Peculiar and Otherwise Absurd and Baffling Nonsense (really guys? is that your only website? that and a facebook group? And Phil Schapker is still listed as your contact?), also known as the Juggling Club, who are also in charge of bicycles at Tulane. I don't know why either. They just decided. There is an official Tulane Cycling Club, for people with carbon-fiber bikes and racing uniforms and sporty racing things, and we make fun of them and joke about chasing them around and beating them with our U-locks. I say we. I have staunchly denied being a member of the Juggling Club at every meeting I attend and I still say we. Sigh. 

Anyway, for some reason the Juggling Club runs the bike help desk. TUPD confiscates all bikes left on campus over summer, and they gave them to juggling club, who rented them out. So for $30 I rented a bike for the semester from my friend Phill (now the Tallest Man in Cambodia) and rode around a cruiser, a High Flyer, spray painted this awful shade of green with white stripes (thanks Juggling Club), until I got hit by a car at Thanksgiving. I was thus bicycleless for the rest of the semester. 
At this point in my life I knew three things:
a.) I wanted another bicycle
b.) I wanted it to be sparkly gold. 
To be clear. In March, just after Mardi Gras, I bought another bicycle--the lovely, lovely Torker U-District, from Gerken's Bike Shop on St. Claude. It is a lovely bicycle and I love riding it but it is not gold and sparkly. SOMEDAY, when this one wears out, or I buy an older cruiser with a bad paint job off Craigslist, I will sand it down and take some outdoor vinyl from my mother's graphic design shop and I WILL HAVE A SPARKLY GOLD BIKE. I just need to get this off my chest now. 
the Torker is a great bike but it is not perfect. It has several perfect features, liiiiike--
a flip flop hub. I did not know what this was when I bought the bike. In fact when I bought this bicycle I knew nothing about bicycles! Almost nothing!  I have three friends who are very knowledgeable about bicycles (aforementioned Phil & two others) and a significant other who is slightly more knowledgeable than I. By our powers combined....
New Orleans is a city full of bicycle commuters, and in the parts of it I bicycle through there's a really strong DIY attitude about bikes. I had a weekly standing date at Plan B, for example, the free bicycle clinic that I highly recommend you go to all the time ever just in case your bicycle might ever need anything. (I may write them up later more extensively). This means you learn a lot about bicycles and how to fix them when they are broken pretty quickly. If you can't change your own tube when you get a flat you cannot really survive in this city, much less bike over Jeff Davis. 
So I learned about my flip-flop hub quickly. In short, a flip-flop hub has room for gears on both sides. In my case, I have a 16-tooth single-speed freewheel on one side, which is the typical pedal-and-coast thing, and a 16-tooth fixed gear on the other. 
I am not nearly cool enough to ride fixie and I do anyway. My trackstands are abysmally short-lived. I am working on it. By the end of summer I'll try to get them down. (breaking my ankle kind of stopped all the practicing I was gonna do in june & july.)  My bicycling long-term goal is to ride to the beach, camp overnight, and ride back. 

I love this bicycle but I  am doing some things to it, which I'll tell you more about once I do them. With my first real paycheck of the summer I got myself a back rack and am soon ordering some straps for my pedals (please ride strapped/clipped in on fixies, it is much safer. Do not do what I did and ride around for three months without them), and eventually going from straight to drop bars. Sometime in August. 
and someday. Someday. Someday, I will have a gold bicycle. 
abigailnicole: (Default)

A lot of my blogging has gotten less personal than it used to be. I’ve been keeping a blog since I was thirteen and started exploring the internet, leaving my messy stamp all over it for eight years now. If you see an abigail-nicole on any website, there’s a high chance it’s me. And while I never resist the urge to throw parts of my life out over the internet the parts I share have been getting smaller and smaller.

I’m Nicole. I write fiction. I review books. I sew, and knit, and quilt (once, a performance that has yet to be repeated). I’m 21 years old, 5’9” and 140 lbs, brunette, top-heavy. I really love being an adult. I don’t watch cable television and I don’t often see films in theatres. I peer into microscopes, I bake, I do a little bit of cooking (mostly my significant other does that now, he’s better at it than I). I’m lactose intolerant and love organic chemistry. I bicycle around, usually for fun, but seriously for about eight months now. I’m applying to medical school, I am graduating college, I am living in New Orleans and I am from a small town in Kentucky and I don’t know what’s going to happen in my life.

I like oversharing. Usually I only blog when I’m bored (because writing about yourself is a flattering distraction) or busy (because it’s a form of procrastination), but I’m going to try to do a better job this semester. As a result, expect to read a lot about biochemistry, statistics, Thomas Pynchon, Tulane University, virology & ophthalmology, baking, bicycle commuting, living in New Orleans, and generally being in college. I like talking to other people and hearing about their lives and I use the internet just as often for “tell me about _______” as I do for anything else, so sometimes I will write “tell me about _____” posts as well as photos, fiction, essays, thoughts, general journal entries, etc.

I am online mostly at twitter, tumbr, livejournal, dreamwidth, facebook, google+, ravelry, and last.fm. Feel free to friend me here, and if you see an abigail-nicole lurking around other websites, feel free to pick me up there as well. and always, thank you for everything.
abigailnicole: (books)

I have very little to say about Gravity's Rainbow about this point in time. In my Pynchon class we're only reading three books and this is one of them, at which point I'm sure I'll have plenty to say. Thomas Pynchon is a man who makes the most sense when you are done rereading the book for the millionth time: that being said, with this first go-round through Gravity's Rainbow all I could really tell you was the sequence of events in the plot. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don't.

Which doesn't keep the prose from being beautiful, as in the
She is the British warm that protects his stooping shoulders, and the wintering sparrow he holds inside his hands. She is his deepest innocence in spaces of bough and hay before wishes were given a separate name to warn that they might not come true, and his lithe Parisian daughter of joy, beneath the eternal mirror, forswearing perfumes, capeskin to the armpits, all that is too easy, for his impoverishment and more worthy love.

You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you’ve found life. I’m no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are “yours” and which are “mine.” It’s past sorting out. We’re both being someone new now, someone incredible…

which is the kind of beautiful, sappy romanticism I can't decide is beautiful (yes) or Pynchon making fun of sappy romantic prose (also maybe a yes). Considering that most love in the book is obsession, torture, sexual, and a power play it is really hard to tell how much Pynchon feels sympathy for Roger Mexico's true love and how much is satire.

There's also a wonderful amount of organic chemistry, that comes together and ties in all the different bits of drugs, sex, rocket navigation control, plastics, and even interpersonal relations. Control: the paranoia is about not being able to be in control of yourself, the organic chemistry passages are about controlling the smallest things to get them to do what we want, the sex scenes are about control, even the blatant passages where characters are struggling with how to control the flight of the 000000 rocket. This book is a hole that gets bigger the more you stick your head into it, and soon I will have my head all the way inside it twice a week.
abigailnicole: (books)
Ruth chose to answer this letter one night while she was in bed with a man named Dowdey, whom she had met the previous week. She wrestled the pillow away from him and put it behind her back in order to sit up more comfortably, and with an airmail pad on her knees she began:

“The weather in New York has been lovely, but otherwise there isn’t very much news. I can’t stand my boss because he’s an absolute tyrant, but everybody else is nice, and we’re trying a new format that I like better. A man who works in the next office”—and she dropped one hand to give Dowdey a pinch on the buttocks—“has been awfully sweet although I don’t know him very well yet. I haven’t been going out much lately. I usually come home after work and get to bed early. It was marvelous seeing everybody in Kansas City.” Here she paused and tapped the pen against her teeth, and finally added that she hoped to visit Kansas City again before long.

Dowdey, having rolled over and raised himself to one elbow, was reading the letter with his chin propped on Ruth’s shoulder.

“Jus’ like I aim to get back to San Antone,” he said, and began kissing her throat.

“Hush,” she said. “And stop. You’re bothering me!”

“Come on down here and le’s bother you all over,” said Dowdey, “on account of you can write yo’ little mama in the mornin’.”

“Cut that out,” said Ruth. “Now cut that out!”

“Yo’ mama look like you?” he asked, sliding one arm around her waist.

“She’s my sister’s mother!”

And as if by hearing these words she realized what she had said, Ruth touched her lover gently and looked down into his unblinking hazel eyes. She caressed the wind wrinkles of his leathery face; he became solemn and expectant.

“I’ll only be a little while,” she said. For a few minutes she sat with her knees drawn up to her chin and gazed across the river and the buildings on the western shore, and she was able to see her home, not as it was now, but ten years before, at a time in her life when she would never have thought to say her mother was not her own: when she had been as tall as the new evergreen trees in the yard, when her brother was a baby. Now this was gone, and it was gone forever. She wondered why she was in New York, why she would soon give herself to this man for whom she had no feeling.

“I don’t think it’s her fault,” Ruth whispered, with her head on her knees, and when Dowdey asked what she had said she did not answer. Presently she sighed and continued with the letter, thanking her mother for sending a box of oatmeal cookies Harriet had baked, and said they were wonderful, though in truth they had arrived broken and crushed, and she had sprinkled them on the window sill for the pigeons. Having signed the letter with love, as she always did, she ordered Dowdey to open his mouth and hold out his tongue to lick the envelope.

“That all?” he asked, grinning, as she leaned across him to place the letter on the night table.

“It depends on what you mean,” Ruth said. She turned out the light. When he covered her she was looking across the dark river, gravely thinking of her home.

— Evan S. Connell, Mrs. Bridge

I think I'm writing my next essay about this excerpt.
abigailnicole: (bad day)

today in evolutionary psychology we talked about a study done to determine what children think after about the afterlife. The question was: “Now that the mouse is no longer alive…” and there were a variety of questions, ranging from “will he ever need to eat food again?” to “does he still hope he gets better at math?” and they recorded the percentage of five year old children who said yes or no.

When asked "Now that the mouse is no longer alive, is he still angry at his brother?", 60% said no. When asked: “Now that the mouse is no longer alive, does he still want to go home?” only 24% said no. When asked “Now that the mouse is no longer alive, does he still love his mom?”, only 6% of children answered no.

A girl in my creative writing class collapsed yesterday in front of me during the break. Her legs gave up and she fell over. “I just haven’t eaten much today,” she said when pressed, and we went back inside. When you’re falling down in front of other people there is something else wrong. I didn’t know what to say to you, but I hope things get better soon.
abigailnicole: (Default)
Spring Break is officially over, but I have no classes today, so it's mostly still on. This week I have only two days of classes, actually. But also two tests, so I'm spending a lot of time making Genetics notes and texting people about physics. Probably less useful than actually doing my physics, but you know, texting people about it is much more entertaining.

Have some media!

new orleans in the spring )
I've always been interested in photographing things, collections of things, inanimate objects. Usually temporary collections of inanimate objects: little mini-shrines, in a way, and what they say about people. What's in your purse, what's in your pockets, on your nightstand, in your backpack, decorating the wall facing your bed. What do all these collections of objects say about you?

Beyond that I only have a few weeks of school left. We're house-hunting, when we find one I'll tell you: we've got a few good prospects so far, all with gas stoves.

I picked out all the songs I like in my iTunes, which is about 250 of them. Oh dear. If you would like one, pick a number between one and two hundred and fifty and I'll upload one for you, with a small written description. I promise it will be fantastic!

Spring break has brought on the GSA fever. I call it GSA fever because it is the feeling I had at GSA. you know if I get this creative scholars program, I'm going to be an english major with a creative writing focus? That means that for my Honor's thesis senior year I want to write a novel. The Delilah novel. I have this all worked out in my head, pictures of the porch and the characters and the way the house and the Agency work. This brings me back to GSA I suppose for a good reason...

and that is the way I want to record my entire life all the time. I want to tell you how it feels to sit here and listen to smooth Rockland County, "the swimming-pool noises" and try and read about snRNPs and splicing and how nice it feels to wear a tank top again, feel my hair growing: it's long enough to brush the top of my shoulders when I walk, fine and feathery on my skin. We're looking at houses, and when you're looking at houses everything is exciting because it's about potential. This space has the potential to be perfect! it's not now, it won't be, but it could be. We looked at a basement house with empty tile floors, in blue and green and purple, with a porch swing and windows. I could make curtains and live in a purple room. I could drink tea on the back porch and write my honors' thesis novel.

But this is how it is, I want to describe to you the way everything feels right now. Lazy and heavy and warm. Fountain pens that constantly spill ink on your fingers and pages; it manages me, I do not really manage it....some cartridges are more well-behaved than others. When you have a fountain pen, beware! They are temperamental creatures whose moods change with the color and consistency of their cartridge. My blue lasted forever and was perfect, but my pink was so contrary it all wrote watery and finally just broke down after two half-ink half-water pages. This red cartridge has lovely ink but likes to cover my fingers with red-ink bloodstains. I apologize Amanda.

It's time for summertime music. Put away the winter clothes! Bring out lemonade and iced tea. I want light, sunny songs and green grass and the loveliness of new orleans in the spring.

time for more DNA and magnetic-electric forces. oh, my concentration is terrible.
abigailnicole: (Default)

moody writing, I would like to take a good notebook and start writing again. I journalled prolifically in 2008 but not at all in 09. I want to start the decade out right, writing again, but at the same time I feel very quiet these days. I don't know where to start.

maybe with fairytales.

My english class is intense. my teacher is a man who is just very intense. He is very focused, very deep, has thought processes that are...wow. Most people are not like this, they are not this focused on consciousness. Today we talked about fairytales and how suspension of disbelief is essential to the human mind and inbred at a young age--how much of our analytical process is based on suspension of disbelief, what logical fallacies are inherent in our everyday thinking?

It's interesting because I too think about these things, how did we get from single-cell amoebas to creatures that store a form of collective consciousness on machines? how does evolution work that way? I didn't think other people thought about these things and this class is proving me wrong. I am the kind of person who pays attention to details, and I am very much interested in how stories are crafted and appreciate that above all else--the attention to small details, well-placed; sketches of characters in a few deft sentences; plot twists that are entirely logical, unexpected, and delightful (the tree-of-life sap at the end of the Fountain). A good sense of timing.

"pattern recognition" he wrote on the board. how we take all these details in our lives and make them make sense. propter hoc--the notion that events that come in sequence are casually linked, how the human brain tries to make unrelated facts become patterns and place ourselves into those patterns. hocus pocus.

I found my song for January, 2010.
abigailnicole: (Default)

I have eleven stumbles, eleven new emails, a coke, class in an hour. I've been gathering time and strength to reply to these things. it's been kind of busy since I came back, but it's good to be back, to see everyone again and be back with all my clothes and friends and snoopy! I do, however, miss my parents, my bed, and my ukulele.

all the songs I've downloaded recently have been guitar-ballads, almost bluegrass-like in their picking precision. The Gambler. Food In The Belly. Oldertoo. even Hey Rabbit....sometimes good things fall through the cracks.

my ability to read things right now is not well, my contacts have been acting funny lately. Like my mother's! Reading close-up things with my contacts in has been silly, I have to Ctrl+ webpages and sit closer to the computer screen/textbook. My eyes are really bad--I went from -5.75 to -6 in my left eye this time, and I didn't think it made much of a difference? but I'll switch back to the old ones next time and see. I still have a box anyway.

It's really strange to think about waking up every morning and putting corrective pieces of plastic-membrane in your eyes so you can see. it's like we live in the future!

they're renovating campus. They took out the asphalt road to put in new asphalt, and a box of raised grass, and put new lamps next to the old lamps. it's like 'changed from glory into glory'....really, I don't understand the change.
abigailnicole: (mad)

right now I am so cozy. It's freezing outside (okay, 53) and windy! but right now I am inside with a blanket, a sweater and hot tea and it's fabulous.

After the orgo test my week is just beginning. Spanish paper, Spanish presentation, orgo lab final, physics homework! and I do not want to do any of it, I feel like watching some great sea monster movie, something sinister and mysterious and terrible with all tentacles and claws and giant luminous eyes in the dark waters.

I'll settle for bath house monsters.. really I just spend a good thirty minutes screencapping this instead of writing my essay, because there is an intrinsic relation between


and the monster in all of us. like tori-level symbolism in video form? but the music not so much. also I like saying RAR RAR AH AH AH ROMAR, ROMAMA, GA GA OH LA LA (and by that I mean 'romar').

I'm done.
abigailnicole: (not envy)

my roommate (suitemate, actually) has swine flu.
oh shit. and it's more dangerous if you have diabetes...
abigailnicole: (death)

today I am waring the large flannel shirt my m other gave me as a dress, listening to Gregory Alan Isakov in the wind and doing homework--

things could be better, this morning I got up at 5am and stumbled out in the dark to throw up in the bathroom. It was cold and I drank coke to try to get the taste of bile out of my mouth; it's still a little achey film on my teeth despite the mouthwash. I am glad I wore this overlarge shirt to bed.

I have 80 orgo problems, 6 chapters of physics for a test, a spanish paper/oral exam, and a project for anthropology. I think I will drink a coke now and do some homework.
abigailnicole: (OMG)

Bailey asked me how my life was going "you know, outside of school."

A very puzzling question, indeed.

I'm sitting in the Academic Advising center right now. Physics Lab is due before class at 1, and my lab partner didn't email me his part until after midnight last night....by which point I was asleep...so this morning after physics I frantically ran to my appointment with the pre-med advisor. She's ridiculously laid back and all "meh, whatever" but said if I can keep a 3.6 (KEEP A 3.6) there's a good chance I'll get in Creative Scholars, which means I'll be accepted to Tulane Med School and won't have to take the MCAT unless I really want to (or want to apply to other places). So that's good and I just want to keep a 3.6! so much! If I can keep that up! If I can get a B in physics, an A in Orgo, and an A in everything else. O man. This is even more "KEEP GOOD GRADES" than I already am. 3.6 is real hard, guys. This is college. I have a 3.8 right now but Physics! orgo! ahhhhhh and next semester I want to take Genetics with Dr. V and Orgo II and Physics II and Literary Investigations, because this means that I'll be an English major. Oh look, that's my schedule, unless I also take Spanish. Maybe I'll take a semester off from Spanish. I have to write a paper for spanish today---

basically, it's not going, not really at all. just school. but if this creative Scholars thing works out then I will be GOLDEN after this. Junior and Senior year will be that. So one year of stress now.

and on top of all this I have a sty in my eye and didn't eat breakfast. what a shame
abigailnicole: (Default)

first off, have a song:
Battles - Atlas
it doesn't have any words.

Second off, I've been thinking of Atlas Shrugged a lot lately. Amanda texted me about being on a train, and it got me thinking about Dagny Taggart; then a conversation I was having with someone about the things we liked when we were children and how we consider them silly now reminded me of the same conversation taking place between Dagny and Francisco.

does anyone else have the problem that in iTunes 9 now the mini-player in the taskbar doesn't work? or is that just me?

I've been kind of a mopey, electronegative oxygen all week. Perhaps after all my TESTS are OVER---did I tell y'all we get a three day weekend for Yom Kippur? Jewlane for the win--I will be able to finally relax. My FAVORITE LIBRARY IN ALL THE WORLD has sent me a care package so I can sew them a Where The Wild Things Are hat and Bailey is going to get me yarn so I can make this tree sweater. I'm bribing myself with them if I can get through all these tests in hard classes this week. I've been staring at textbooks and problems so long the words don't register in my brain anymore. This is not helpful.

Also mopey oxygen, clingy fluorine, and hipster noble gases are totally real things to call people. time to study more.
abigailnicole: (death)

Songs I Would Write on the Ukluele, if I Only Had It With Me: this lists includes things which I have felt moved to write songs about and thus far sung without accompaniment, such as "Why Am I Doing Homework In The Dark" with a chorus about "I'm not anymore! I stopped to write this song!!" and love ballads for my roommates which include specific lyrics about big spoon vs little spoon. Also I feel an "Ode to The Window In The Shower (The One With The Frosted Glass)" is in order.

Bailey was watching Veronica Mars and I thought it was Dead Like Me. Sound-alike narrators when being heard through two bathroom doors.

man, physics is killing me. something awful. help? why won't the law of cosines/law of sines work for me.
abigailnicole: (death)

my dream job is floating around the world in a zeppelin, making new things and thinking about them. I also like chemistry.

I have, however, very little motivation to study for the orgo quiz tomorrow. I like ethanol, I like methyl groups and cyclohexanes and 2,4-dimethylpentane. perhaps debo estudiar espanol, for I also have a quiz in that. tomorrow will be a very quizzical day.

I think I shall go as Death for halloween. I need to acquire a top hat and an ankh between now and then.

now all around me the lights grow dim and only mac screens illuminate their owners. I alone burn a solitary lamp in a dark room and pore over foreign languages and foreign substances; we shut the windows as if it will keep out the darkness. my motivation is not here, I wish to build things from air and water vapor. it is time for sleep--goodnight, all
abigailnicole: (Default)

I think I am developing an ear infection. It is rather painful and I can feel it draining when I lie to one side. How delightful! Ow. :(

In other words the first week of school is over. I continue to be amazed by how gorgeous my dorm (not my dorm room, mind you, just the building itself) is. Right now I am sitting in a room on the second floor with glass on three walls, overlooking two courtyards with trees and lovely little paved walkways. and couches. there is a sad television in the corner where no one would want to look because it's just sad white wall instead of lovely trees. there is also a small outside enclosed area with chairs and stairs where I ate lunch. Pics or it didn't happen:

Orgo. Um. Josh and I are approaching Orgo with the philosophy that you must love it and throw yourself into it wholeheartedly, say "YES! I love pi bonds, I live off carbon chains, functional groups make me function! I love cis and trans! Bring on the enantiomers!" Of course we are not to these things yet. But we're reading ahead regardless in an attempt to keep up. If this seems paradoxical, keep in mind that it is organic chemistry. Also physics? reminds me how much I hate calculus. I do not think it will be hard? but it will be physics and I will dislike it. Anthropology I have already discussed. It will be...a social science. Spansh is just going ot be lots of reading and trying to keep up with my teacher, who habla muy rapidamente y no entiendo aveces? No tuve una profesora que hable rapidamente antes, y es un poco dificil entender para a mi.

It's been a long week. I'm glad it's over. JR and I are going to whole foods and will probably cook tonight. I was invited to see Inglorious Basterds? Which, okay, Tarentino, whatever, but I kind of want to see it just because someone compared it to Catch-22. My love affair with Catch-22 is kind of obscene. I haven't even read it that recently.

Ron Paul is coming to Loyola next wednesday. JR is so excited he can't see straight. Also they're potentially starting an Ayn Rand society. O man. O man, guys. This is going to be such a week to be a conservative. Since every other week at Tulane is good for liberals...

Speaking of such, Saturday Newcomb is hosting Drag Queen Bingo. I think with that, I'm done.
abigailnicole: (Default)
one more day! gonna stay One more day! then I gotta go!

packing. waiting till my parents get here. People have finals right now, isn't that crazy? Half my hall is gone and people are still studying for tests that will determine their GPA. Going to see Star Trek with my Trekkie mother tonight. It will be an exciting and joyful reunion with Captain Kirk.

new layout for summer. I'm moving out, might as well clean house in LJ too. After this frenzy of activity and craziness and people and things and cars and walking and organizing I will stop and move into nothingness. Two days in a car, stuck to a chair with nothing to cushion me against this transition. I expect to be jarred.

Time to move on. I have a good job lined up and a list of projects I want to do, and friends I am going to see and friends I am going to write letters to. Sentences to end prepositions with.

"All my packing is coming undone! I still need to live. I forgot that."


abigailnicole: (Default)

March 2013


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