I actually think girls want something a little more profound than that. Fun is transitory. Fun is not very fulfilling. I know that Cyndi Lauper did not intend to be terribly deep with those lyrics. It was the 80's, we just wanted a good beat to jump around to in our leg-warmers and ruffled stonewashed denim skirts.
The past two days have been pretty stressful for me. Moot Court called and what was originally intended to be a "couple hours of research" turned into hundreds of pages of legal reading. Do they know who they are entrusting the foundation of the Criminal Procedure tournament with?
I feel like I am not really in control of my mind or my emotions. I feel that there is a sad poetic justice to things and am surprised that I am handling it with wry amusement, and see the rightness of it. As usual, I revel in delusions of grandeur, of my own nobility, of my own steely will, maybe all to fight off the mounting suspicion that I am in fact just really weak and tired and ready to crumble.
I said before, "I am sick of acting brave." Yesterday I sat in my bed feeling that I had never been as insulted in all my life.
Last night I had a really disturbing dream, where Debbie caught some bad British virus and her eyeballs were hanging out on Slinky springs and she was all kinds of primary colors. She looked like a Venus flytrap or some Nickelodeon cartoon. I'm really sorry, Debbie, I do not imagine you like that at all, but my subconscious is all out of whack, and I think it had a lot to do with Reyna telling me she saw you at Delphi and you looked great, and then you know the virus was a British thing, so of course you were the number one suspect... Worth mentioning also that I had a bit too much red wine last night and that had a controlling factor on my psyche.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 11:09 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home