(no subject)

It feels like I haven't updated in awhile. Whee.

Very little has happened. >.> On Friday, as we were wrapping up a lab, a bit of residue on the bottom of a ring stand we were heating exploded into little bits of purple and green flame, and then the peices landed on the lab desk and exploded into -more- peices. It emitted some clouds of indigo gas that Matt and I couldn't help but inhale. It made my brain spin and I had to grab onto the side of the table so as not to fall over. Josh was shouting "Fire!" but Mr. Duranceau was occupied with something, so by the time he came over the peices had pretty much fizzled out. He said that the stand had probably been insufficiently cleaned from a demonstration, and that we should leave the area to avoid breathing more toxic fumes. I developed a cough for the following two periods, but it was all rather exciting.

Our Café in French is kind of coming along; we're starting to create a floor plan, and look into specific furniture to buy. Perhaps next time we'll look more into the menu and such.

The first Japanese class went pretty well, it was really fun but seems kind of like a money drain because I didn't really learn anything I didn't know before. >> Perhaps we'll go a little faster next time, I hope so. ^_^ A couple of entertaining things--
Watashiwa kirei desuka?- Am I beautiful?
Watashitachiwa ika ga suki desu.- We like squid.
Anatawa kaki desuka?- Are you a persimmon? >__>
I started talking to Roman, and he taught me a few other words. I hope that commencing these lessons will give us the conversation fodder we need to become better friends again... I'm going to make a small list just to keep things straight of new stuff.
aoi- blue
kaki- persimmon
ie/uchi- house
ika- squid
kirei- beautiful
hatsuhon- pronunciation
gakusei- student
kokosei- high school student
koko(sannen)sei- junior (ichinen for freshman, ninen for sophomore)
kai- shell
kokuban- blackboard
shinbun- newspaper
^^; I'll stop with that, though I'm decently sure there are more...

Yesterday I did NOTHING except go to the Meadowglen Mall with my dad. It's the grossest place ever. I couldn't stand being there, which is odd, since it had a couple of the stores that usually interest me at malls; Waldenbooks, and Spencer Gifts. I guess it just had a really seedy atmosphere that grossed me out. Plus, there was absolutely nothing in the food court that I even vaguely felt like eating. THat's unusual, but oh well...
I also revisited my old sketchbooks, and was horrified at what I had once thought was really good...;___;! My pictures were really, really bad. But that was only a few months ago, and the ones I'm doing now aren't -that- much better...it's super depressing.

*sigh* At my guitar lesson I felt stupid since I didn't much practice. I'm trying pretty hard, though. My teacher burnt me a CD with blues rhythms on it so I can practice soloing...scary. Scary scary. I wann an electric guitar. >>

I also wann that the women at Playtime be a little less suspcious. I took a trip there today, to buy more colored pencils. I'm a glutton for color options, and now that I found out Playtime sells Prismacolors...<3! I know where I'll be spending all MY pocket change from now on... Heh. But anyway, I picked out a bunch of colors, sadly limiting myself to fifteen, and then I brought them to the counter. "There are fifteen," I told the lady.
She glanced at me and narrowed her eyes, as though she thought I was lying. She began to count them herself. However, she must have been doing it hurriedly, or carelessly, because she looked up again. "So, fourteen?" she inquired.
"There are fifteen," I replied with a smile, trying to show my goodwill. But she frowned and began to count them again. As she did it though, another lady at the other counter asked her a question, and it was a minute before her attention returned to me. She glanced at the pencils once more. "So...fourteen?" she asked, again.
I had already informed her twice that there were fifteen, and I wasn't about to do it again, so I nodded. So, she rang up fourteen, and I got a Jade Green pencil for free. I don't feel the least bit guilty about it, since if she had listened and believed me in the first place, she wouldn't have been gyped. Heaven knows I'll patronize that place enough with my colored pencil obsession, anyway.

I think I'm done talking now. Homework to be done. >> ...LOTS of homework to be done. Dammitall.

Love you all--

~Rai

(no subject)

I am ill. Malaise engulfs me in a cloud that seems tangible in my delirium. Thoughts phase in and out, distorted, broken, confused images that meander aimlessly before disappearing. My afflicted mind can scarcely register my surroundings, or recognize the tired face that looms in the mirror. Its form is reflected a thousand times, each one smaller, between the mirror and the orbs of glass that rest in its sunken eye sockets. Random patches of blush appear bright against a sea of pallor. Sighing, I drag myself from the bathroom, swatting the lightswitch as I go, having to come back as my tremulous hand misses its mark the first time.

The pile of work sitting in the corner seems intimidating in its vastness. Hours of night lie ahead, to be spent working, churning, producing. I cannot fathom any of it, neither the work, nor the disheveled room that contains it. Everything is in disarray, which seems almost natural through my bleary vision. It needs to be cleaned, I tell myself. The work must be done. All of it. I mustn't stall...yet the word stall brings to mind the image of a horse, and I grin. Infinitely distracted, I glance over to my bed, which seems to swell before me. Sleep is what I need, I think, but the thought is not mine. It is an instinct a hundred thousand years old, when humans did not live in houses, or cluttered rooms with piles of homework in the corner. They knew that when sickness could only be cured by sleep, and their knowledge echoes through my body as my eyelids grow heavy. But no, not yet. I force them wide, though a boulder could not be heavier. Glancing at the door, I consider for a moment, then draw my tired body towards it, and down a million stairs to where my father sits, reading.

He glances up as I approach, smiling upwards at me from beyond his newspaper.
I'm sick, I tell him. I have a fever, and my head's in a whirl, and I can't stop shivering. I have a lot of work to do for tomorrow...I stop in my explanation for a moment because my balance fails, and I take a second to regain it. I don't want to do my work, daddy. May I stay home tomorrow, and go to sleep now? Please? I blink to keep my eyes from watering, and await his reply.
He thinks a moment, surveying me. You don't look that great, he finally responds, but you may feel better in the morning. You should do as much work as you can, and then see how you feel then. Go do at least something. You'll be glad you did.
I stand there for a moment, not comprehending, but finally the thought comes through. No sleep now? I have to work first. I can't go to sleep now. The bed must wait.
The thought seems ludicrous, so I have to process it a few more times. When it finally confirms itself, I want to argue, I want to complain and beg and stumble, so that he'll know that I really need to sleep now. But my sickness fills me with futility, so I nod, and try to smile. I turn away, and he's already returned to his article, reading to himself. He's a good father, teaching his daughter that sometimes sickness has to be dealt with, sometimes you just can't let it stop you. It's a life lesson—I'll thank him someday.

Each stair up to my room seems to rack my weakened body. My hand shakes on the doorknob. The pile of work seems to have multiplied, a vicious abscess. I can't tell if I'm shuddering with fever, or with dread. Somehow my tiredness is exacerbated, and I clench my eyes shut as if I might escape it somehow. When I open them again, they rest upon my computer, which whirrs gently as I turn it on. I have to start my work. Start it, start it please, please, please, I implore myself, and I open a word document. However, it is these words, and not a school essay, that manage to escape my trembling fingers.