victormakesart | (no subject)

I'm being sort of moodswingy, so ye be warned. I'm rather depressed, and I've been crying a lot. I've also become extra-creative to compensate. In other words, I'm a mess. An honest-to-God mess. But yeah. So if I randomly start crying...don't worry about it.

It's just happening. I can't stop it any more than I can stop being afraid of stupid phobias. They're getting worse, but I think it's just because I'm sad. I don't want to have to leave my room, because I'm terrified that I'll run into a dead something-or-other. I do, of course, leave my room anyway. But I walk the long way so I can be sure to avoid the spot where the bird was yesterday. Even though Nicole swears it isn't there anymore.

I don't think people understand how scared I am of some things. I'm not a joke! I get so scared sometimes, it makes me feel ill. It stops my thought.

I finished my first paper for "the human situation". It has to do with kleos and honor in The Iliad. I really like Achilles's shield. Homer went into four pages of visual description in the name of art. Score one for artists!

I keep thinking that I see Keenan, around campus, but that isn't possible.

I won an argument! I readily admit that my opinion is slightly skewed. But it doesn't mean I'm not right.

I'm going to see a famous poet next week. This is my pilgrimage. This is my enlightenment, my spiritual redemption. Oh my goodness I can't wait!

"Well. You might at least be able to shake those doldrums of yours. Tea's wonderful for that, you know."

"Of course it would." He smiles and leads her to the kitchen, where he sets a kettle on and starts weighing the tea options.

"Ah. Right. Hmmm." He peers at a few boxes, and finally decides on ordinary enough Earl Grey. "Would you get the teapot out?" He points to a cupboard.

She leaned up and took the teapot carefully, drumming her fingers on the sides. She set it on the counter next to him.

"Thanks." He smiles. After a moment, he fills the pot with hot water to warm it, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"But 'm addicted an' it ain't easy." She paused. "Yeah. Pro'lly f'r the best."

He nods, and the kettle whistles. He quickly prepares the pot and pours the water over the tea leaves.

"Why, thank you. I usually see magic as a bit less, well, prosaic, but..." He shrugs, still smiling.