- daydreaming about baking cookies with the fake vanilla extract I bought two weeks ago.
- trying to wash the printmaking ink out of the corners of my fingernails, failing, and looking like my hands just came out of a zombie movie.
- listening to "Set Fire to the Rain" on the radio, as in hearing it four times on three (THREE) different radio stations during the 45 minute drive from Nofo to Roch.
- trying to convince myself that saying "Nofo" and "Roch" doesn't make me sound like a tool.
- pretending to be Ryan Gosling from "Drive" whenever I'm driving to Rochester/Northfield/Cub Foods. The ice cold fear that starts running through my veins whenever I have to make a left turn probably isn't very similar to the fear Ryan Gosling's character (who doesn't have a name, fyi, if you haven't seen the movie, in which case I feel so bad for you because that movie is basically the fuel that keeps me running day after day, and not even because it stars Ryan Gozlin' but because it is a work of Capital-A-Art, and I can say that without the least bit of contempt or cynicism. Was that long enough of a run-on fragment for you? Sometimes I think that the fond, fond memory I have of watching that movie in Dallas with Ernesto probably accounts for 80ish percent of the reason I want to move to Texas.) what was I saying before? I'm aware that my adventurous left-turns in rural Minnesota - the kind without a green arrow at the intersection - are not exactly up to par with Ryan Gosling's mind-blowing escapades (LITERALLY) (you could hear brains actually squelching/splashing onto the walls) (P.S. spoilers.. sorry). But pretending to be Driver makes me feel elated, so I do it all the time.
- reminding myself that I need a haircut, then remembering that I don't want to spend fifteen bucks to walk out of Cost Cutters looking exactly the same as when I walked in, then aimlessly browsing DIY haircut tutorials on Youtube until I get distracted by better Youtube things.
- feeling depressed that all the people I admire are probably jerks.
- wishing there could be a bookmark for my audiobook on iTunes so that I could occasionally take a breaks and listen to music without losing my place, then the plot, then the book, then I swear.
- listening to Josh Ritter and trying to rearrange my organs so that more of me could be filled up with his music.
- catching myself about to quote someone's blog, then realizing it would probably be creepy if they knew I even read their blog because we're in that weird limbo between being fringe acquaintances (where the other person probably doesn't remember that we had that one conversation at that one event) and actual acquaintances (where I nod at the other person on my way to class and pretend I didn't just read their really dumb contribution to Carleton Facebook Memes). Do you have a blog? I probably read it. And pretend I don't read it by self-censoring myself whenever I want to reference it.
- saying I want to make this blog look sexier, but in a dignified way. Like, Meryl Streep sexy. Just kidding. I know she's the Lara Croft of actresses, but Doubt totally obliterated any chance of my finding Meryl Streep sexy. I haven't ever played Tomb Raider, but every life-size cardboard cutout I've seen walking by Gamestop leads me to assume that Lara Croft is the most unstoppable human force the world has ever known. Probably accurate.
