hmm...

Well. Today was sort of a strange day. It started off with Shakespeare porn, took a trip down Senior Year Physics Class Lane, and ended with a whole lot of cheese. I love cheese.

Anyway, I can never decide whether Intro to Poetry is painful in a hilarious way or just painful: there are freshman there who are so pleased with themselves that they understand the concept that POETRY USES METAPHOR. Good job, random freshman! You win! Yes, poetry is sometimes tricky because writers will USE LITERARY DEVICES. Imagine that. I never would have guessed that when Whitman said his soul was like a spider he didn't mean his soul was actually a spider!

On the other hand, yes, these are inexperienced people, and for good reason. I'm not supposed to be in that class. So we're doing Shakespearean sonnets and some of the newbies were quite horrified at finding that good old Shakes liked men. And women. And sex, a lot. And he wrote about it in vulgar manner. Dear me! My favorite person in that class, the guy with the blue, blue eyes, was not present.

I went and sent John a sonnet via Facebook. Number 138 - it deals with lovers who lie to each other, and they each know they're lying. It's planned, calculated psychological warfare to benefit oneself. I thought it appropriate.

The blue-eyed boy and I (I really should find out his name, but it's rather awkward now) discovered the astronomy chapter we didn't read dealt with all that speed/frequency/energy of light crap that was drilled into my head in high school physics. I was pretty pleased with how much I remembered, and I think we both passed the quiz.

Then. I went to my first ever therapy session. K recommended it and I trust her. I spoke to a counselor and she seemed a little puzzled by me. I am an expert dodger, and though I directly and openly answered fact-related questions, I managed to get around anything having to do with my own habits and feelings. It reminded me of a scene from a favorite TV show where an anorexic girl demonstrated the technique required to make people think you're eating while you sit holding a conversation with them. I didn't really like that the scene came into my head then. My next meeting with her is next Weds, after I see John again. We'll see.

And I had lots of bread and cheese for dinner. Between moving and freaking therapy I figured I deserved it.