Ends and odds and ends
*msn: Breathing, at times, seems a luxury, and doing nothing pure hedonism
A matter of opinion
And I think this one makes a lot of sense.
I suppose…there is a time and place for things like anthems, but there should never be restrictions for the feelings behind singing them.
Situation update
I have finished 2 out of 3 papers (yes, I managed to finish reading my metaphoric file from that previous post on potential) and, as I have been telling everyone who asked, this is pretty much how it was:
The construction of various new financial theories to support my answers which would not have made sense otherwise.
Frequent referring to formula sheet for likely-looking formulae to apply. (E.g., (thinking) Ah…Call valuations eh…must be this formula…it starts with “C =”…hahahahahahahaha…*stops short*…Coupons?? Sheeeeeee…)
I am convinced that sometime in the near future I will either be both bodily deported and permanently declared persona VERY non grata for lowering the average IQ of Australia, or I will be awarded a Nobel Prize in Finance. Or similar.
*crossed fingers*!
I have since retired to the library to study for my last and final subject, the entire duration of which was spent near-comatose due to the indecipherable Swedish accent of my lecturer who is, apparently, of genius-type proportions.
It is an interesting note, though, that the only time I managed to understand him was when he whipped out a small fluffy purple stuffed toy and made it move around the projector.
It was also, possibly, the only time I was fully awake.
The file is therefore now lying open in front of me, and I think that’s excellent progress for the day.
Little things amuse me…
Like catching sight of the girl who went up to my boyfriend about 6 months after we got together and declared that he had bad taste in girls.
No, I don’t know why that amused me but it does. I still laugh about it. Especially whenever I see her, which is often since she’s in the same university.
She must think I’m really weird. Boyfriend does anyway. :oP
Ode to a Mayfly
I think it would be quite difficult to find someone so unimaginative as to not be intrigued by the life of a mayfly.
Think about it:
“…The nymph stage may last from several months to as much as several years, with a number of molts along the way…[they then] live very briefly as adults, as little as a few hours but more typically a day or two…” – Wikipedia.com
Isn’t that just so freakishly amazing??
To spend years buried in mud at the bottom of a pond, finally emerging as a beautiful, delicate wisp of a thing, all gauze and frills and glints of wing-light, only to live for just one day.
A friend said it was like living just to die.
I disagree though; I think it’s like living just to live.
For the one single sublime moment – the first-last-only sunrise-sunset of their lives.
Maybe that’s why we keep living, waiting always waiting always hoping for something better to come along.
So do our dreams die when we do? Or the other way around?
A matter of opinion
And I think this one makes a lot of sense.
I suppose…there is a time and place for things like anthems, but there should never be restrictions for the feelings behind singing them.
Situation update
I have finished 2 out of 3 papers (yes, I managed to finish reading my metaphoric file from that previous post on potential) and, as I have been telling everyone who asked, this is pretty much how it was:
I am convinced that sometime in the near future I will either be both bodily deported and permanently declared persona VERY non grata for lowering the average IQ of Australia, or I will be awarded a Nobel Prize in Finance. Or similar.
*crossed fingers*!
I have since retired to the library to study for my last and final subject, the entire duration of which was spent near-comatose due to the indecipherable Swedish accent of my lecturer who is, apparently, of genius-type proportions.
It is an interesting note, though, that the only time I managed to understand him was when he whipped out a small fluffy purple stuffed toy and made it move around the projector.
It was also, possibly, the only time I was fully awake.
The file is therefore now lying open in front of me, and I think that’s excellent progress for the day.
Little things amuse me…
Like catching sight of the girl who went up to my boyfriend about 6 months after we got together and declared that he had bad taste in girls.
No, I don’t know why that amused me but it does. I still laugh about it. Especially whenever I see her, which is often since she’s in the same university.
She must think I’m really weird. Boyfriend does anyway. :oP
Ode to a Mayfly
I think it would be quite difficult to find someone so unimaginative as to not be intrigued by the life of a mayfly.
Think about it:
“…The nymph stage may last from several months to as much as several years, with a number of molts along the way…[they then] live very briefly as adults, as little as a few hours but more typically a day or two…” – Wikipedia.com
Isn’t that just so freakishly amazing??
To spend years buried in mud at the bottom of a pond, finally emerging as a beautiful, delicate wisp of a thing, all gauze and frills and glints of wing-light, only to live for just one day.
A friend said it was like living just to die.
I disagree though; I think it’s like living just to live.
For the one single sublime moment – the first-last-only sunrise-sunset of their lives.
Maybe that’s why we keep living, waiting always waiting always hoping for something better to come along.
So do our dreams die when we do? Or the other way around?
posted by me me me at
4:42 PM
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