"But ah'm not afraid of dyin'. Cause I know that when I get to heaven there are gonna be these wonderful trees, and ah'm gonna climb them. But you know what? Instead of leaves and flowers, those trees are gonna have fried eggs, and delicious Virginia ham, and big heaping bowls of biscuits and sausage gravy. And one day, Sammy, you're gonna meet me there, and we're gonna climb those breakfast trees together, and it's gonna be delicious and we're gonna be happy until the end of time."


Junior Recital, next semester, everyone's coming, or the diva will come get you.

I always wondered how my friends at other schools took so many hours. Now, you know I'm no overachiever, but taking the minimum twelve (or thirteen for this semester) has always kicked my ass, and I couldn't figure out why. Until today, eating my lunch in my car on the way to Cookeville for the fourth time this week, when I realized I'm taking five hours of driving to class. And my four blowslots this semester, which should count as labs, that's another twelve hours. So, really I'm taking 30 hours, not including workstudy, homework, and some semblance of a life. So there.
I don't get this "hour" bullshit anyway. My studio classes meet for six hours a week, but only count as three. What is that? Does Wednesday not count?
The beauty of the fine arts building on campus is that it's mostly a music building...there are two "art" studios in the whole four story affair. So when I'm sitting in the lobby waiting for Art History to start, I get to listen in on the music student's conversations. I've noticed they sound a lot like Theater people, but not as pretty. In fact, I'm sitting across from TTU Music Department's Holly, only so not as pretty :)
But she sure can talk fast.
I miss people who aren't my classmates. Because my classmates, as a general rule with few exceptions, are bitches.
Sigh...at least I get to work in the hot shop for six hours tonight. Too bad it's for someone else.
Love and kisses.