:: Youth & Eternity ::
All we are is dust in the wind, dude.
[2004-06-20 @ 1:49 p.m.]

The kitchen is *almost* clean. *Almost*. I don't know if ** really stresses any words, but it works for me.

Weeeell. Yes. I've been dusting and sweeping all day, so that doesn't make for good conversation, does it? Uh, last night I watched Bill and Ted. Again. Hence the title. Dust. Wind. Dude. Wow! I have to bring my pet dogs inside. I'm in my pjs still, and my neighbours are out on their deck. I love watching their surprised faces at my lack of pride. Why should I have to get dressed? I'm at home. This is what I always do. It's Sunday, and I don't have anywhere to be. I usually over-dress for other places, so this makes up for it. Aaaand... Pepper didn't come in for me. Mum had to get up and get her and now I'm ex-communicated. Stupid dog.

Well, anyway. That's it for the blow-by-blow account of my daily... day. After dinner I have a load of essays to type. I started typing one last night, a character analysis that ended up nothing like the character and then it turned into a story of some guy's morning. Because I'm weird like that and I'd prefer not to do my work. He was a character named Leonce from The Awakening (a book I *dispised* the first time through two years ago), and my first sentence, just for kicks, read, "Leonce was a man of few words," (utterly untrue anyway). And it only went downhill from there. So, I'm the world's best procrastinator! Woopwoop!

I'm so bored. The activity of most interest in the past few days' time was that one questionnaire I filled out (questionnaire is french, est un mot de franšais, just to let ya know). I wish I had another one. Just because they're oddly *entertaining*. *Right*? I'm having *far* too *much* *fun* with the *asterisks*.

I've decided that a fun job would be international espionage. I mean, think about it. Walking around with walkie-talkies hidden in shoes, shooting guns hidden in cereal boxes (a cereal killer kinda thing... hahaha! No? Okay, it was bad), rolling around on the floor like Bond, James Bond. Just saying your name like that. Beaverhausen, Anastasia Beaverhausen. And making up cool names like Anastasia Beaverhausen. Hanging out with men who wear heavy fur coats and heavy fur hats and heavy fur Russian accents. Sitting at cafes with the utmost vigilence whilst still looking natural. Being a spy for the United States of America and winning awards presented by the Dubyah. Fighting off Kaos Agents from communist countries no one's ever heard of with little beads of sweat rolling down your forehead but your hair and makeup staying perfectly fine. Shouting to civilians who barely speak English, "ON THE GROUND! I SAID GET DOWN ONTO THE GROUND!" brandishing a large weapon dubbed 'my little frrriend'. Dropping from ceilings on wires through red laser beams to steal back the stolen crown jewel of the Queen of Gotland. I just think being a spy would be pretty neat. Or I could just be romanticising a paper-pushing job based on what I've seen in movies.

So I still want to be an actress. I can always play a spy, I guess! I don't know where I came up with all of that, but I just think it would be a nifty kind of job. You know. If someone asked you what you did for a living, you'd have to lie and say you're a lawyer, just so they'll walk away and not ask again (that's the effect lawyers have on people). Or you'll have to carry fake ids and fake passports and hold guns to peoples' heads and remember that you're the only thing between these innocent French corporate business men and a plummet to the concrete street 50 stories below. See, these thoughts are always unprompted! I don't get it either! I guess I need a good dose of something like The Bourne Identity. Or a life. Either one.

I've decided that the job I would never want is to be a bee-hive manager. A truck full of bees tipped over in Montana the other day, and something like 200 million bees (give or take 100 million) ravaged the highway. People in bee suits had to wrangle them and still got stung. They'd take off their white bee helmets, and hundreds of bees would fall out. Do you know how much it hurts to be stung by a bee? I couldn't imagine getting stung by hundreds at once. That's the one job I would never, ever, ever take. I'd rather work as a desk secretary at a bank first, or even a lawyer, and that's saying a lot. A whole lot.

*Sigh*. Yup. Told you I was bored. Have a nice day, come back and visit me. Or send me any lovely questionnaires you can think of, I'd love to answer them.

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one thousand embraces

SILENCE, TRAITOR! - 2006-05-10
Irish History - 2006-05-02
Goodbye Bio! - 2006-05-01
DANCE, WATER! DANCE! - 2006-04-26
Gaaaaaah. - 2006-04-24

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