William Henry Channing, whom I literally only just discovered ever existed, seems like a very clever man indeed.
He once quoted, very famously ( apparently) that: "
"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony."
Reading that makes me happy.
Sometimes it's easy to dwell on the monotony of everyday life; that nothing particularly exciting is happening. But, when I actually think about it, the seemingly "little" things in my life are not so monotonous after all, since those are the things that bring me the greatest pleasure.
Laughing with my friends about the most ridiculous of things, being nice to a friend when they're feeling a bit down, going on msn as soon as I get through the door and bebo-stalking simultaneously really are the things that make life so wonderful.
It's true.
There are times I wish I didn't have to grow up and I could just live in this happy little bubble for a little while longer. Not forever, of course, because although it is an assured inevitability, I hold on to some hope that I will manage to attract at least one male at some stage in my life ( who is not a three timing sleazebag or a dorky bebo stalker). In the likely case that I won't, remember to come and visit me at the convent.
You'll be pleased to know that I've decided to stop being the complete epitome of wasterdom and I'm back on track embracing my inner geek. I have perhaps even exceeded my usual loserishness by reading "The Wife of Bath" before going over it in class. I saw it as a good opportunity to prove to Miss Miller that, despite my shockingly bad essay for which I should be eternally condemned, I am not, in fact, reaching the illiterate stage nor where I am completely clueless about the english language.
Although I have to read each word that Chaucer writes about a dozen times to comprehend its meaning, I am pleased at the fact that it seems to have a plot, as opposed to ( you knew it was coming) Wharton's good ol' "classic", The Age of Dullness. While the Wife of Bath insists on telling us such unnecessary information as how "wearing out" her husbands ultimately leads to their death ( and by that she doesn't mean she makes them run on a treadmill for an hour each night), it's certainly a lot more interesting than reading about the "scandal" that is Newland Archer kissing May's gloved hand, as risqué and audacious as that is.
I'm really looking forward to the events of next week because not only am I going to see Grease twice, but Adeline is also coming home.
I cannot wait to see her and her lovely frenchness again. This time I might make the daring step of attempting to speak to her in french, which I know is completely crazy of me...but since I am now used to being able to string sentences together in my classes with Elodie, I feel that it wouldn't be too strenuous for me. I like to think( or, rather, kid myself) that having to speak in spanish and french is sort of exercise for the brain, and exercise for the brain is surely more important than exercise for the body; right? I'm going to keep telling myself that until, one day, I'll wake up in a mass of my own fat, unable to get out of bed and wondering why I used to pretend powerwalking was doing me any good.
Tomorrow is Friday: day of two periods, if you exclude my speaking period with Belen, who spends the period half asleep anyway or playing a "juego" about suitcases or such fascinating themes.
My day will map out as follows: Periods 1 and 2- I will ease my way in to studying, and by the time I get out a book, the bell will have rang for break.
I will then go to Spanish, play a quiz and maybe win some raisins at the end of it. For Periods 5 and 6, I will most likely end up in the Sixth Form Centre listening to the nurse giving critical advice about what to do in the incident of someone having a heart attack: " you can't do much."
After that, chances are I will go to buy lunch, and to my antipathy I will buy a chicken and mayo sandwich, which is 1% chicken and the rest mayo, and I will look at it for about an hour before I eat it and contemplate why I bought it in the first place and then remember that it was because I find any form of vegetable completely repulsive and oddly enough don't find the tuna and brine combination sandwich all that appealing either.
After eating Mrs Stirling's delectable sandwiches, Sarah and I will begin to make our away down to the canteen to wait for our second year "recycling monitors" whom we have now began affectionately referring to as " the little buggers". We will wait outside the canteen for approximately fifteen minutes and none of them will show up. Therefore, Sarah and I will run round the school ourselves as true and loyal recycling warriors should, emptying recycling bins that second years have filled with their disgusting junk. After this mind-blowingly exciting task, the bell will ring and lunch will have ended, thus we will rush back to the study room, thinking about if there was any logic behind volunteering to be a recycling warrior.
The rest of the day, bar a not so animated interval with Belen, will be spent waiting for the bell to ring or, in reality, for it to get to 3.30pm so I can leave to stand a hope in hell of getting a place on the bus where I will not be squashed, farted on, or attacked by an army of first years.
Life is fantastic.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment