Snoozin 'N Treats

Before finals ended I wrote a list of things I wanted to do over Christmas break because I was going to have lots of time to do whatever I wanted. It included reading novels, sewing things, designing things, changing my portfolio, etc.




Instead, I have spent my time doing this:



I hope you are having a good break. Mine has been tasty.

In which we talk about someone who is way cooler than me.

This is my sister Matisse. (The one wearing reindeer horns)

We've talked about her on here before, but I would just like to say that my sister is the smartest, wittiest, Dostoevsky lover-ist person I know.

And that's not even an exaggeration either.

Sure, she writes a genius blog on which she sometimes mentions her accomplishments like getting into the graphic design probram, getting paid to go to Russia for a semester, or talks about our cat, Coldplay, or her Honda Civic Turbo. But I am here to tell you people that you don't even know the half of it. Probably not even the smallest fraction.

You don't know about the conversations we have where we discuss Gotham and Didot, or geeky inside jokes we like to make last forever. You don't see our deeply complex negotiations over clothing sharing or those times when we recline the seats in the car and discuss our woes. You don't know the clever nicknames we give things (nor will you ever) or the times we talk about the future.

But you don't have to just take my word for it—just meet the kid and she'll spew some awesomeness for you.

The passion that fills this girl's soul is something that most people don't really comprehend. Sometimes it consumes her, but always it drives her to be great. Some people would look at her and think, "Wow, she's so lucky!" But luck has got nothing to do with it. She's worked so hard for all of those good things. (Except me of course, I was a gift from Heaven) She doesn't always succeed, but she always comes back even stronger.

There is no one else in this universe that could be a better sister to me.

In which the sleepless zombie formerly known as Lexi has her luck run out

Yesterday I had my 7am class for the last time. Since 7am is not really a time that is easy to be punctual for, my genius little TEE posse came up with a system of taking turns going to class on time to make sure we get the announcements at the beginning of class. (which are generally the only important thing we do in there.)

Yesterday was my turn.

Since I stayed up until 4:30 the night previously, when my alarm went off at 6:15 I instantly snoozed and made no more movements. And then suddenly it was 6:52. I took exactly three minutes to wallow in self-pity and think loathsome thoughts about cold weather, and early morning classes and this terrible responsibility that was mine, before I blindly stumbled out of my loft bed (possibly—no, definitely the worst kind of bed one could ever have) and felt my way to the bathroom.

I say blindly because it was way too early for there to be any light and as of Tuesday my glasses look like this:

Don't even ask me how that happened. One second they were on my face, the next they were on the ground broken. They didn't hit the ground and break, they broke, fell, then hit the ground. Yeah, my face broke my glasses. Unfortunately, what this meant for me that morning was that I was going to have to put in my contacts.

Now friends, allow me to explain that there is nothing so utterly uncomfortable and miserable than doing a sleep deprived shuffle into a too bright bathroom at 6:55am with dry eyes and trying to open them wide enough to stick your finger and a small piece of rubber onto them.

Nothing.

I finally squashed them in and decided tokeep my eyes mostly shut in an effort to help them adjust as I went and pulled on a pair of jeans, ugg boots and a coat. Then I went to the car, drove to the Crabtree parking lot, sat the Pearl in an illegal spot and marched right on into class.

It was boring, and pointless, and everything I knew it would be but then I had a rather odd sensation. I thought, "what is wrong? Something is amiss. I know it." And then it hit me. I carefully looked around the room to see who's field of vision I was in, and then I casually did a little back scratch on my self.

Yep, I sure wasn't wearing a bra.