This is testing my will power already

So, last Monday (the 24th) marked a double-beginning, as it were. A new year of my life (age-wise and such) and a new year of school. Neither got off to a particularly fortuitous start, but everything seems to be shaping up. Hurrah!

Now, since I've heard that "real" people have these things called "goals," and since it's an intriguing concept, I've decided to try it out.


Things To (Maybe Possibly Hopefully?) Do This Semester:

-Write (and finish) at least 2 short stories

-Read On the Road

-Socialize more, dammit! I have friends that live within walking distance from me--why do I not see them more than once a year? My hermit complex needs to be scaled back...lots.

-On that note, make some new friends. Nothing too drastic, just one or two would be fine.

-Failing that, at least get out more.

-Save up as much money as possible. Well, as much as I can without too much inconvenience.

-Win at NaNoWriMo!

-Exercise at least once a week. You know, or so.

-Start eating (and actually enjoying) once new kind of vegetable.


Now, I'd say that's a respectable list of potential undertakings.We'll just see how all this business pans out.

My View of LSU, Part 1

Louisiana State University has Always Been There, hanging over my head throughout the course of my life. A large percentage of the population of Baton Rouge will bleed purple and gold if given the least opportunity, and such rabid fanaticism did not endear me to the institution. I swore up and down that come time for college, I was getting as far away from LSU (and the entire city and state) as opportunity would take me.

Turns out, that wasn't very far.

So yes, I ended up at LSU. But being stuck here... well, I haven't found it nearly as disagreeable as I thought I would. In fact, I've ended up with my optimal lifestyle (at this point, at least). I share an incredibly convenient and rather charming apartment with my wonderful boyfriend; my social circle consists almost entirely of super-awesome people; they pay me to go to school, for chrissakes. And though I've lived near it all my life, it's just in the past year that I've been able to look past the miasma of football and "GEAUX TIGERS" and see the place for itself.

The point I'm meandering around to is that I recently "bought" (in exchange for paying the electricity bill) a very nice camera off my boyfriend, and I've taken it with my on a couple of walks around campus and surrounding areas. Here are a few of the photos I snapped; it's no detailed photojournal, but I got to play with my new camera and document a glimpse of my current setting to boot! These should be worth a handful of words, at least. [It was impressively difficult to coax all of this into anything even resembling a workable format, so Parts 2+ may be a while in coming...]



<-The stairwell of my apartment building. A combination of creepy and charming!









Interesting and slightly shady everyday things.

















Some shots of the clocktower. Who doesn't like a good, old-fashioned phallic symbol?



















































Around campus, etc.

State Street, where the magic begins.

Nightly Apocalypse

Every night just outside my window, a battle is fought. I’m not exactly sure of the nature of this fight, but night after night of involuntary research has led me to believe that it is a hellbeast, a sign of the coming apocalypse, venturing up from its unholy den to hunt. The hour of this battle is variable, but it is inevitably timed to happen only moments before I drift off to sleep--a nightly trial of the soul. To the thing outside my window, this is probably a bonus.

The first sign is a faint, ominous snarl, life the rumblings of thunder from a distant storm. As it crescendos into a grumbling roar, my body involuntarily tenses and I grind my teeth in anticipation of the coming trial. After it reaches its peak, the roar subsides into a thoughtful purr as the two sides ready for battle. Here the approaching beast usually lets out its battle cry, a shrill, repeated scream that sends my head burrowing into the pillow. The idle growling swells back to a roar as the beast charges. It meets its prey in an unholy crash, the crack of doom aurally silhouetted by the grinding screech of the attacker, a sound like the screams of the damned—not those placid souls resigned to their fate, but the ones who are royally Pissed Off about the way things are going for them. Every night I pray for a swift victory, for though the beast always wins in the end, its opposition puts up a hell of a fight sometimes. Some nights the scuffle is mercifully quick. Other nights the cacophony of bangs and crashes, rumblings and shrieks goes on for ages, echoing off the walls of buildings and the inside of my skull.

Finally, the beast, satiated at last, throws the carcass of its prey to the ground, where it lands with a hollow crash. It trumpets its cry again, this time in smug victory. It is an arrogant, ostentatious thing, this beast. With one last, contented roar, the thing rumbles laboriously off, its belly full, and I allow myself a small shudder of relief. It is only after all of this that I am able to attempt again my quest for sleep.

Oh, wait, I believe I hear the beast approaching now. I’m afraid I have to go; I have front-row seats for tonight’s apocalypse.