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A less interesting post.

I'll see if I can throw up something more risque or interesting tomorrow (maybe a masturbation status update??), but today I am tired.

My friend and now roommate Erin and I finally got the keys to our new place in College Park. I got everything measured and stuff; they scoffed at me, teased me even, but then I got home and found free floor plan drawing program, and behold!

u jelli?

Pretty sweet, yeh? Now when we move in on Sunday I'll already know where all my shit is going, for the most part. I have one or two less desirable variations that I may have to settle with for the interim, but I don't mind; the core of what's gonna make this room work will still be there. The desk, basically. Fucking love that desk. I found a sweet monitor to install in it for super cheap; it arrives next week. It's gonna be beast. BEAST.

In other news, I actually started writing a bit of a short story yesterday. I blogged about it over on the interrobanger blog, though it's a somewhat long and rambly post. Maybe fun to skim. Or not. Whichever works, dude.

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This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

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I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

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Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
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