a) Freddy Kreuger attacked me in my dreams last night. What other explanation is there for pain to suddenly appear while I'm sleeping? The thing is, though, that I don't remember dreaming about Freddy Kreuger at all, and I have a feeling that I definitely would. Also, he tends to leave visual marks on his victims, namely slashes across their skin from his knife-like fingers. Of these I have none.
b) Somebody made a voodoo doll of me and is messing with it. I don't know what they could've done from the inside, still, but when a random part of your body hurts and you can't explain it, the voodoo theory is totally plausible. But the real question is, who is the perpetrator?? ...
c) I pulled a muscle during my long stretch of intense (ha! yeah, right) exercise yesterday while watching the season finale of One Tree Hill, season 2. By intense exercise I mean walking on the treadmill. Yes, walking. How could one injure oneself with such detrimental consequences by simply walking?
It better not be something wrong with my flat feet because I love my converse and all my other sneakers with no arch support, and I'm not about to go adding cushion where cushion is not wanted. We'll see if tonight's rest will cure anything; if not, I won't hesitate to dig those crutches out that I just heard we have hiding in the basement (would've been helpful to know that before struggling to get to class today).
My incapacitation today has only driven me further to explore the wonders of the amazing INTERNET. How is it that I have not known about StumbleUpon all my years of self-proclaimed procrastination talents? It must be fairly new, but I don't know how I ever wasted so much time before - now with this beaut of a website, the possibilities are endless. I find the coolest things, I swear, I feel like just blogging about the treasures I find. Which I may have to do for one or two posts. For example, tonight I stumbled upon a poetry website, hellopoetry.com, that will randomly give you poetry to read, by famous classic authors, and by those of us plebeians that submit our own. I sometimes fall in love with whole poems, sometimes just pieces of poems, but I thought I'd share this one that particularly struck my fancy. Make of it what you will.
To His Mistress Objecting To Him Neither Toying Nor Talking
by Robert Herrick (1648 ?)
You say I love not, ‘cause I do not play
Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.
You blame me, too, because I can’t devise
Some sport to please those babies in your eyes;—
By love’s religion, I must here confess it,
The most I love, when I the least express it.
Small griefs find tongues; full casks are never found
To give, if any, yet but little sound.
Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below.
So when love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.
Now since my love is tongueless, know me such,
Who speak but little, ‘cause I love so much.