February 23, 2011

Proof that my cat is trying to kill me*

1. He knocks heavy water glasses off of my desk onto the floor, so that they shatter into a million razor-sharp shards right by my bed.

2. He infiltrates the bathroom while I'm taking a shower, lying in wait on the rug.  He knows that when I step out of the shower, I will not be looking for him and will step on him and hit my head on the many ceramic things in my tiny bathroom.

3. When he sleeps on my bed at night, he sleeps on my chest (the better to suffocate me) or next to my face (an even quicker modality); barring that, he curls up against me so that I can't move, effectively trapping me in a helpless position.

4.  He's always watching.

5. He employs psychological warfare by meowing constantly, keeping me awake at night and wearing down my will to survive.




*Inspired by the oatmeal, which featured this comic.  Unfortunately, the cat-crimes against humanity alleged herein are reflective of my cat's true nature.

February 18, 2011

Romance novels are a bad influence

Oh, how quickly the mind jumps miles ahead of the present, to years in the future, summing up the perfect sequence of events for an ultimate happy ending, a fantasy replete with history and romance and darlings and cheries and whispered sentiments.  The fall is simple, swift, and the chordae tendinae are pulled taut, the heart is full to the brim and overflowing.

February 2, 2011

Thundersnow

The physiology test has been postponed a day.  As early as Sunday evening, there was a buzz in the air about the upcoming storm: "What?  Weather.com is predicting blizzard conditions?"  The snow started yesterday with big, poofy cotton balls drifting determinedly toward the ground.  Last night, it changed and today the same snow continued: small, tiny particulates, thin and brittle ice-crystals that sting the cheek yet melt instantly on contact.  After dinner, I was going to sit inside and curl up on my bed, surrounded by textbooks and papers (but perusing facebook instead) and listen to the wind howl, but I decided to take a walk anyway.

Out into the cold, and I was alone.  I live on a busy street, and it was deserted at 8 p.m.  The whole scene was faintly orange from the streetlights, but the gusting wind turned gravity on its side and it was as if my glasses were made of frosted glass.  I walked and walked and saw only a handful of cars go by, each practically in the middle of the road.

Back inside, I found the crenelations of my scarf crusted with flakes, remnants of the wind tucked away among the threads.

Later, studying physiology with half-hearted attention, a flash of light slid around the edges of the window shade.  A second later, a pane-rattling boom echoed percussively around the air.  The wind was howling around the corner of our building.  It mocked gravity and hurled snow both new and fallen up and around and back again.

All I want to do is sit and listen to the wind and watch the fantastic spirals of snow in the air.  At times I cannot even see the house across the street.  My cat is curled up against my crossed legs (a perfect armrest as I type) and I sit, watching, wishing I did not still have to study for two exams this week.