the master

Now, I am the master. (Luke, I am your father)

After 2 years of agonizing consideration, I have decided not to go for a PhD. I am well aware of all the things I am giving up:

1) the insolvent life of a poor starving student
2) my extra long twin mattress sheets (pink dot and pink stripe sets--mix and match!), which, alas! cannot fit on any adult size mattress. However, I am far too enamoured with my sheets to give them up entirely, so I have determined to make a quilt out of them. Yes, I am ridiculous and in love with my sheets. So what.
3) an excessively large closet
4) the mental acuity of a jelly bean, brought on by evil classes with evil teachers
5) student membership rates in professional societies. Drat.
6) the title, Dr. Laura. There already exists a Dr. Russon, after all.
7) four years of staring at finite element code
8) student rates on football tickets
9) Vaden health care (alas!!)
10) homework.

Thus, henceforth I shall be known as Master Laura.

The end.

the color of poetry

Janie the magnificent and I have composed two sets of symbiotic poetry about complimentary colors.

Our method: one of us wrote a poem with a color in mind, one line at a time, telling the other the word at the end of that line. The other person wrote a poem that rhymes with each line of the first poem, based on the complimentary color. We wrote these without sharing the content until they were complete, with no regard to meter or line length. The poems were to be 3-6 lines. A lovely activity for a Sunday afternoon, I think, perhaps, one of the loveliest to be had.

The first:

written by Janie:

blue (topic, not title)

Shiny travel bag
unleashed, nimbly zipping in an arc through clouds
landing by high heels in baby hues

No flowers are dark
a plush carpet rolls out
ready for toes.

written in reply by me:

orange

under the heat my body flags
the popsicle my tongue enshrouds
A sunflower, freshly cut and bruised
in my hair as I embark
I look for more, and finding none, pout.
It was not worth this blister, I suppose.

The second:

written by me:

yellow

I will paint the house anew
And the chair squeaks when I sit
But, my hair is curly
And I love new bowls
It is enough.

written in reply by Janie:

purple

Shards of broken heart poison the brew
bubbling amethysts and dragon spit
simmer in dull pulse; slowly, surely
reducing palpitating pain and filling holes

Every skin I don, I slough.

me and my B-

For all those who were secretly (or not secretly) hoping for a disgraceful finish to my economics career, you will be delighted to hear the following: I got a B- in game theory. Yes. A B-. Not even a B. I've never gotten a B. It would have been nice to get a B just once. I might be more reconciled to my B- had I hitherto received a B. But. It was not to B. (Hideously bad pun in honor of DH.)

I have had a B+ though...on two occasions. On both occasions, I was exceedingly grateful for the B+. I suppose I should be grateful for my B- as well, but I find myself lacking in such desire.

I find consolation in the fact that no one will ever see my B- since it's in the last quarter on my transcript. But then, it won't matter that no one will see it since I will have already told everyone it exists. Alas. I worked very hard in the class too. Alas. I will accept consolation from this point until April 30 in the form of flowers, gifts, or stinging commentary on this post. Thank you.