Monday, March 28, 2005

i don't know which way the feather falls

About three hours ago, I started a post. That was before my sister called and we talked for roughly an hour. When we hung up, I decided to scrap the entry and do some homework. At which point, I picked up my guitar and furthered the crippling I'm doing to my right pinky. The way I hold my pinky against the body of the guitar while I compulsively pick songs makes the bone above the first joint lean at nearly a forty-five degree angle. It's really sexy, I must say. Think I need to calm down with that intense picking.

Yes, I've pretty much decided that I won't be doing any homework tonight. I won't be writing a thesis for my 404 paper. I won't be reading on Marx's Communist Manifesto for philosophy. And I won't be reading any Adrienne Rich for women's lit. But I will be writing this blog entry.

Random facts to make this post not all about the post itself:

The subsitute teacher Mrs. Sellers taught me how to spell the word pretty one day in Writing to Read. My countrified dialect left me pronouncing the word purty, and something told me the sound-it-out phonics tactic wasn't going to cut it that time. So I called the most feared substitute teacher of my elementary years over to my dinosaur of an IBM computer and asked her how to spell it. P-R-E-T-T-Y. And I never misspelled it again. Thanks, Mrs. Sellers. You weren't that scary after all.

I think I hyper-extended a groin muscle while doing some heavy lifting this week. Apparently, I didn't follow appropriate procedure for attempting to raise one end of a couch with one hand while trying to situate something underneath it with the other hand. Not only was I unsuccessful, but I also have an unpleasant experience everytime I go to stand up. Great.

There for a few minutes, there was that bird outside singing. You know. That bird. The one that used to camp out somewhere around the window when we lived in 325, Holly. I always thought of it as a nightingale because I only heard it when I was in bed at night. For a few minutes, it sang, and I felt like a 3 am insomniac. But it's just after midnight. And the bird stopped singing anyway.


hollynicole said...

mrs. sellers and mrs. herzog were sisters.

cassidy said...

i most definitely didn't know that. but you know, it makes all kinds of sense.

hollynicole said...

i just made that up. but if i didn't, we both could have went on believing it the rest of our lives.
i think mrs. staples should be a sister too. ooh! it's one of those groups of three we used to make, and with a nice hierarchical order:
mrs. sellers = substitute
mrs. herzog = real, live teacher
mrs. staples = interm principal

cassidy said...

you're amazing, holly. amazing liar. amazing group-maker. amazing b/f/f/.