Note to self, take it to heart!
To fat chicks who go running through town
Thank you. Thank you for not being ashamed of your unfashionable body shape. Thank you for doing something hard. Thank you for letting me see you. Thank you for inspiring me with the belief that if you can do it, so can I.
Thank you for making me believe that if you inspire me, I could inspire someone else.
I might go for a run this afternoon.
Oh, the irony
I am now reflecting on the process of writing a reflective reading journal, which, as its title indicates, is where you reflect on the articles you’ve been reading, which mostly are about reflexivity in research. Not reflectivity. I think that’s when you have the little shiny patches on the sides of the rotating platform that the mice are on so you can see it spin.
Rotate or revolve?
I think rotate.
God, I’m tired. Another day’s work on the reflexive reflexive reflective journal, it goes in on Friday morning, and then I’ve got a week to write about the connection between two works of art and health psychology. Probably with some reflexivity thrown in.
My presentation went just fine this morning. I like being in front of a class, it’s lots of fun. It’s so much easier to talk to a bunch of people who are watching you and nodding and asking questions than it is to talk to a mirror in your room.
Also I have a soft plush neuron (who I took to class and used to demonstrate just exactly where the recording electrodes went in studies one and two). Her name is now Pippi the pyramidal cell. You know? Like Pippi Longstocking, with the horizontal pigtails and men’s shoes? Did I get round to linking to the picture of this brain cell? I think I did. You’ll see why it kinda works if you go check it out.
Go on, go look.
Meanwhile, I’m going to shut this computer and go watch an episode of Warehouse 13 and go to bed. And hope like heck that I can get away with not reading the reading for tomorrow morning’s class.
Bugger, why did I have to go and think that? Now I have to go look it up and read it or I’ll feel guilty.
Let’s see. If I can read it in, like, five minutes flat (who cares about comprehension, eh? – think of Calvin and Hobbes), then I reckon I can squeeze in some delightfully daft telly before bed.
Sorry, this is way more stream-of-consciousness than usual.
God I’m tired.
A pleasant surprise
Getting a polite smile and wave from the baseball capped, ciggy smoking, lowered-Ford-driving boy racer I allowed room for round a tight corner.
I had a great idea of something to write about but it’s gone. I just about dozed off face down on the couch, knees on the floor, after tea (happy pig bacon, poached eggs and homemade hollandaise sauce on toast, mmmm) and now I’m procrastinating from reading tomorrow’s presentation out loud to my enthralled bedroom mirror and timing myself.
I am so tired. The thought of trying to finish my reading journal (that I should have been keeping up with all term) for Friday makes me want to cry. And there’ll be other readings to do for Thursday and Friday’s classes.
Great timing to get PMT as well. AND we’ve caught up with Castle so there won’t be a new episode until tomorrow!
Okay. Okayokayokay. Let’s get cracking.
When did we see you Lord: a prayer of confession
When did we see you Lord?
We thought we saw you on Sunday mornings, exalted in our praises. We though we saw you in the underlined sections of our Bibles. We thought we saw you when our cause succeeded. We though we saw you when we got a raise or our kids turned out well.
These are the things we see, the things that arrest our attention.
This is beautiful, and kind of answers some of the things I've been whinging about lately. In a non-answering kind of way.
Twitter fail
So it turns out all four followers I thought I’d amassed were fake. I thought their names were too good to be true. Rena Niznik, Twyla McNickle… But unless all four people just happened to link to the exact same link after each posting two unconnected quotes from random possibly famous people, they were actually bots … aaand blocked.
Also, I’ve unfollowed Nathan Fillion. He’s cute, yes, but pretty snarky. But Jen Yates favourited one of my replies!
Grades
I just spent waaay longer than I should have calculating that because I only got 78% on one of my assignments, on average for that paper I am now just scraping… an A+.
When I saw that 78%, I felt sick.
One of the things I don’t like about being a mother (“just” a mother) or even about working is that you don’t get marked on it. I like to know that I’m doing well, and I especially like to know that I’m doing better than most other people. I can still remember many of the grades I got in high school, more than half my life ago.
I’m not sure what this says about me.
The test I had this morning was very hard. I’d studied hard all weekend, but I still had to leave one space blank, and I know for sure that at least one of my answers was wrong. Now I have to put it aside and get on with the next assignment, to be presented to the class on Wednesday. I have a cold and my voice has gone all sexy. I’m not sure that that’s a good thing…
I have no idea how I’m going in any of my other papers. All the assessments I’ve got back so far have been for the same one, Drugs and Human Behaviour. Wednesday’s class is my hardest paper. The thought of facing my mark for this presentation makes my buttocks tingle.
I wonder if my dad follows this blog.
By the way, no-one in the Link or the Union sells milkshakes or smoothies. I think this is a definite gap in the market someone smart could fill.
