you can't kill an oriole

Holidays are a perfect reason to make cupcakes

I've been writing myself into ruts

When I'm not in school I can't wait to be there, but then I start and am reminded of the precise reason I can never wait for the semester to end. One of my classes is taught by a mountain troll who makes me feel incompetent and insecure with my writing. I'm sticking it out though and I refuse to let her get to me. Despite her mastery of the English language, namely grammar (I make mistakes occasionally, for fucks sake I am human), she will never have it all. I hate to be so petty, but I occasionally look at the picture she posted of herself in her bio (online class, everyone has to post one) and I feel better knowing that, despite her perfect use of language, she is rather unfortunate looking.

Yesterday I woke up and something out of the ordinary happened: I wasn't hungry. This is how I knew I caught the sickness. All I had eaten was 2 pieces of toast and 2 popsicles. Today I am feeling much better, except for this terrible headache which I can only attribute to lying supine for at least 48 hours.

Compared to yesterday, I was much more active today. I ate 3 meals, watched the Ravens game and created a Netflix account. I also priced houses in Red Lion, Pennsylvania because Kevin and I passed through there a few months ago and I really liked it. The picture above is one that I took while we were driving through the town. The people were really friendly there, especially at the McDonalds where everyone that came in smiled and said hello to us.

I'm anxiously awaiting my grades in hopes that I am still a proud member of the Straight A club. I was particularly excited to finish this semester, even though it wasn't my last. Whenever I tell someone my major they always ask if I'm going to be a teacher. This secretly irritates me because if it were anything else they probably wouldn't jump to such a conclusion. The answer to the question is still unknown. I have no idea what I will end up doing with my degree when I am finished. When people ask me what I want to do when I finish school I am reminded of the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" that you're asked in elementary school. How is a first grader supposed to know these things? And if they do manage to formulate a response, it's either a projection of their parent's occupations or the result of gratuitous TV consumption. Kelly says that if you ask Emily (who is four) what she wants to be when she grows up she says a cat. This is the only child who really gets it.