chanson triste

I just came back from an awards ceremony. I placed for photography and won a small sum that I will frivol away in the next three weeks. The show was fairly boring, the pundit laughed at everything she said, and the judges were hacks who failed at their own careers.
It's a prestigious contest!
Anyway, I had kinda hoped to see some people there but they didn't come, so I stood on stage beside a spot of empty air and smiled at absolutely nothing.
Anyway, the photo is here: http://tinyurl.com/earlyharvestwin

love is

Rachel of the Fields (the eponymous character in my novel) just shared with me this insight:

"There are so f---ing many different things said about love, so many things people claim it does and is, that it's a wonder anyone has any idea what the hell it is anymore. ... Well, I guess that's another good thing about it?"

Pardon her language (if I can speak for her); she gets worked up about the smallest things, like love...

Thursdays

On Thursdays, I come home early, namely, I leave school around 12:30 and get back at 2:00 (having to take public transit, since no one is off work that early to drive me and my useless hand). Because of this, I have also assigned it as the day when I can do extra things--answer policemen and lawyers' questions, visit the dentist, go downtown to deliver a package from my mom's work to some customer or other, to save time. As such, today is the... drumroll... first time I get to actually go straight home and enjoy having the house to myself for a couple hours!

Why, I think I'll do some homework then!