I feel I have opened one too many umbrellas inside.

For instance: the really nice umbrella I decided to borrow from Jim today. I take it out of the closet, press the button, and not only does it open, it flies off it’s own stick, in all it’s dark green and blue plaid glory. Upon further inspection, it turns out it’s completely unable to close again.

So… it’s open. So, I use it.

Yesterday, my boss called me whilst I was in a lab.

“You’re going to hate me.”

“What do you mean?” I reply, a little nervous. “How could I possibly hate you, Traci?”

“Well, I forgot to approve your time card.”

Truth is, I don’t hate her. It’s just a little strange, trying to figure out how to get paid when dealing with the man.

Just for clarification, Traci’s not the man. The man exists elsewhere, keeping my money from me.

I would like to apologize to all blind people. In other news, I made my first real elbow macaroni with cheese. Real macaroni, real cheddar, real good. Real easy, too.

Check this out. I’m designing like a tornado.

Yeah. I need a legion of ninjas to follow me around and perform choreographed dances. Imagine the sort of art we could make, the interpretive dance of 20 ninjas after they’ve been told they have more homework than they can imagine.

So, just to prove I haven’t been completely ignoring people without good reason, you can all see a small part of the website I’ve been busting brains over for one of my classes. So, here you go.

Most Music is a company I had to make up for my class. It’s a vintage music store. So… that’s why. In case you were wondering.

Seriously, I need ninjas.

The Dead
by Susan Mitchell

At night the dead come down to the river to drink.
They unburden themselves of their fears,
their worries for us. They take out the old photographs.
They pat the lines in our hands and tell our futures,
which are cracked and yellow.
Some dead find their way to our houses.
They go up to the attics.
They read the letters they sent us, insatiable
for signs of their love.
They tell each other stories.
They make so much noise
they wake us
as they did when we were children and they stayed up
drinking all night in the kitchen.

Yesterday was my first time actually running a printing press. It was crazy; all of the four-color, Heidelburg, ink staining craziness. Setting it up, imaging the plates, inking the rollers, loading the paper, preparing the dampening solution, and running paper through… sigh. Took about 2 hours for the entire thing. Still my beating heart.

I decided to take off the gotee. People said that I looked like an a**hole with it on, and since I don’t particularly find that part of human anatomy all that attractive, I murdered it.

And so, tonight’s going to be a crazy night of TV watching. 6:00 is the second Presidential debate, and then the return of my life at 8:00; Star Trek: Enterprise.

And I still have so much to do.

“Today, we’re going to talk about color theory. How many of you haven’t had any kind of color theory teaching?”

Professor Horelick quickly scans the class, a hawk glare under thinning hair. A couple people actually raise their hands, and I wonder what classes they’ve not been taking that I have.

And I wanted to go to sleep, especially since it’s been a rough week, and Thursdays are defined by having 5 hours of this wretched class. The torment of Sheetfed Lithography…

“So, there’s two types of color theories. Can anybody tell me what they are? No? It’s Additive! and Subtractive!”

As I mouth these words I along with him, these words which have haunted me through many color theory classes, not the least of which was called “Color Theory,” I think Kill me now. Not another minute of this. No sir. I need sleep, and it doesn’t help that I downed twenty dark chocolate covered espresso beans. You’d think I could focus on something else at the same time as this class. Something more productive.

But no. No, there I am, stuck suspended between opposite sides of an educational world. Sleep lies in orbit.