At Bard College

Though I am apparently entrenched within Michigan, at times I leave the state. This precise moment is one of them. It is spring break and I am visiting
Exhibit A.

As you can see from Exhibit A, it is definitely an attractive time. However moving toward Exhibit B, it is not all fun and games.
Exhibit B.

Alex's sleep schedule can perhaps be referred to as typical--for newborn babies and college students. My sleep schedule, however, is much closer to that of my grandparents and nine year olds. Therefore, I spent five hours yesterday morning waiting for him to rise. Actually, I should probably restate that. I spent yesterday morning waiting for him to rise--as I rose at 8 AM and he at 1 PM.

Fortunately, this brings us to Exhibit C, also known as, How I Drove Myself To Insanity While Alex Slept.
Exhibit C.

I know, I know, you can't read the title because photobooth is actually the world's sweetest mirror, but that's not important. The importance is that that woman is blue! and being touched by many, many people. No, no, no, not porn: Milan Kundera! Reputable Czech author! In my handbook, however, his name looks like this:

Milan Kundera: Reputable Nut

It's not that I don't take pleasure in reading about womanizers, it's just that--I don't know--I'm alone in a dorm room in a college in the middle of nowhere where I don't know anyone except one, solitary person and that person--alas!--a boy. So there's my problem. Or, rather, Alex's. Poor Alex.

He's at class now, and here I am, alone with Laughable Loves , ready to attack the next boy who walks through that door (Exhibit D).

Exhibit D.

The end!

The end, of course, of me NOT having a blog. Clearly. Today my mom said, "Well, I won't have a blog forever, Ali." This is simply a stage of her life, her Blog Stage. I have, however, held out forever in NOT acquiring a blog, and so this is now a transformation into a new realm of possibilities.

Actually, however, this is purely for my own benefit--so that I spend at least 100 words a day trying to entertain myself, as opposed to my usual histrionics. Let me give you an example of that form of writing you will not be privy to:

This is probably the best part of my life to write because I am feeling nostalgic, but sadly I can not write in pen my thoughts fast enough. Perhaps as I sit here with the words spilling out of me--like when I once carried a mug of burning coffee to my grandpa out in his barn and in the cold my stiff fingers could not steady the mug and the coffee burned me--I will understand what my emotions--like hot, burning coffee--really feel like.

So there you go. That is, precisely, the tone you will NEVER see again!!!!