Irrational late-night thoughts
It's embarrassing the kind of essay I've put together for my Philosophy class. I'm 75% done (or "done") with it, and already I feel like throwing it out.
In Literature, you are expected to critique authors and their works. This means that even if you don't understand their inane artistic nonsense, you can spend the entire essay lambasting the guy, and still get a good grade.
In Philosophy, you are expected to answer inherently inane questions like "What is success?" which can have no good end, really. This means that when you're done (or almost "done") with your assignment, you will probably sit back and lambast yourself for attempting to sprout inane artistic nonsense.
(Yes, I am a Chemical Engineering major, which, I hope, is the answer to nilsinelabore's question. Despite evidence to the contrary, I know.)
***
I can't tell if it's because he's getting old, or if something is wrong, but Rocky has been waking up in the middle of the night -- when in the past, he'd easily sleep through it. He does crazy things like walk around a lot, pee at the stairs, drink copious amounts of water, and pee some more.
This typically lasts for an hour before he exhausts himself and returns to deep slumber.
I sometimes wonder if parents of infants feel this way. Like, what are you doing?, why are you awake now?, is something wrong? can you tell me?.
I remember when I was around four, I used to wake up really early (that has since changed). My mom would rise at 5 AM, and I would automatically jump out of bed at the sound of the door knob (to her bedroom) turning. My sister would be sound asleep, and I would quietly sneak out of our room, and into the arms of my mom.
Every morning, I'd be so enthralled at how my mom went about her household chores. The sweeping and mopping of the floor, especially. It was almost like a dance -- our dance. I would insist on being carried as she mopped, and she would oblige every single time. She'd sing as she mopped with one hand and carried me with the other, and we'd laughed as she spun me around until we were both dizzy with glee.
By some miracle that only mothers can manage, I would fall soundly asleep, safe in the cradle of her arms. The next thing I would remember, is awaking from the sofa hours later. I suppose that when I fell asleep was when she'd get her real chores done. ;)
... And what d'ya know, Rocky's fast asleep now; he was peeing when I began this entry.
***
My first birthday poem, I think. Courtesy of K. Much appreciated (and amused).
In Literature, you are expected to critique authors and their works. This means that even if you don't understand their inane artistic nonsense, you can spend the entire essay lambasting the guy, and still get a good grade.
In Philosophy, you are expected to answer inherently inane questions like "What is success?" which can have no good end, really. This means that when you're done (or almost "done") with your assignment, you will probably sit back and lambast yourself for attempting to sprout inane artistic nonsense.
(Yes, I am a Chemical Engineering major, which, I hope, is the answer to nilsinelabore's question. Despite evidence to the contrary, I know.)
***
I can't tell if it's because he's getting old, or if something is wrong, but Rocky has been waking up in the middle of the night -- when in the past, he'd easily sleep through it. He does crazy things like walk around a lot, pee at the stairs, drink copious amounts of water, and pee some more.
This typically lasts for an hour before he exhausts himself and returns to deep slumber.
I sometimes wonder if parents of infants feel this way. Like, what are you doing?, why are you awake now?, is something wrong? can you tell me?.
I remember when I was around four, I used to wake up really early (that has since changed). My mom would rise at 5 AM, and I would automatically jump out of bed at the sound of the door knob (to her bedroom) turning. My sister would be sound asleep, and I would quietly sneak out of our room, and into the arms of my mom.
Every morning, I'd be so enthralled at how my mom went about her household chores. The sweeping and mopping of the floor, especially. It was almost like a dance -- our dance. I would insist on being carried as she mopped, and she would oblige every single time. She'd sing as she mopped with one hand and carried me with the other, and we'd laughed as she spun me around until we were both dizzy with glee.
By some miracle that only mothers can manage, I would fall soundly asleep, safe in the cradle of her arms. The next thing I would remember, is awaking from the sofa hours later. I suppose that when I fell asleep was when she'd get her real chores done. ;)
... And what d'ya know, Rocky's fast asleep now; he was peeing when I began this entry.
***
Happy birthday!
What can I say,
I wrote this poem,
It sucks but hey!
Happy birthday, anyway!
My first birthday poem, I think. Courtesy of K. Much appreciated (and amused).
posted by Laughingcow at 2:13 am
2 Comments:
hey.. am sure u can get more / better answers on the pet pages on the net, but generally a perpetually thirsty dog isn't a good thing..
give him a hug for me!
-woof!
Not perpetually thirsty, just for that one hour at night. Bloodwork as of a couple of months ago turned out fine. So I'm hoping he's just playing with me. Or something. Hrm.
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