Closing

Closing, originally uploaded by la_fleur.

Looks like my last Fall Season of school sports has come to an end. Wow. I won't be playing tomorrow; too broken still. The chair will have to sit in RBH until next spring, That is when the real fun starts. For the winter it will just continue to sit in the middle of our common room and trip me every time I get home and the lights are out. Maybe that's an omen; turn the lights on, screw saving energy/the planet. Obviously the intended message.

I'll be brushing up on cooking this weekend, Svenska style. Looks like Svenska Köttbullar, Lingonsylt och potatis. Amelia will be joining. Reunion time! Maybe I will introduce her to the clown, but that will likely be bad- as anything involving new friends and the clown undoubtedly is.

Last night I was introduced as John for the first time in a while; it is strange that the majority of people on this campus know me as Flower. John has that nice understated ring to it. Sort of like Joe, but less ambiguous I hope.

Shooping cart

Shooping cart, originally uploaded by la_fleur.

An abandoned shopping cart sits outside the door to our mudroom at RBH. Its purpose, aside from forgotten weeks ago carrying groceries to our apartment is undoubtedly to some day triumphantly return to Hannaford's with a cargo of empty cans and bottles. As if a trolley could have such aspirations. Regardless, it awaits the veritable fortune of returnables sitting upstairs, which will someday provide the income necessary for some bit of liquid refreshment for the RBH crew. I hope this will be soon; the party this weekend will perhaps get things cleaned a bit.

Today was a good day; despite the load of work I managed begin a wonderful poem at lunch with Helga/Flavia/Horvath (I hope I am spelling that right). The poem involved a dead mail order woman wrapped in brown paper. Suffice to say the idea stemmed from the rather morbid "Poetry Bite" Dining Services decided to place on our table. Ugh; as most college students, I despise those with the authority to provide me with such things, and contend that they have no taste. Certainly were I choosing, everyone else would deem me to have no taste. Such is the life of the indie college student; or any college student for that matter.

Tomorrow, or rather, later today holds the glory of figuring out what a Hamiltonian is, finally, and why I should care, along with some more Anna and perhaps a dash of determinism. My back still hates me for this weekend, and I have a fear that a run may not be forthcoming, however, I will endeavour to do some physical activity.