For this year's ski trip, I would like to write a brief, completely sober blog post. I think I've outgrown alcohol. Or perhaps my body has been scared off for awhile after the infamous New Years Eve incident. In an amusing side-note, when I was cleaning my bathroom last night before moving out, I think that I cut my pinkie on the same shard of plastic that I dug out of my foot; that was my fault for leaving the plastic on my vanity as a souvenir. Stupid!
Anyway, ski trip is fun, although I haven't done anything; I took the last bus up here, played my Nintendo DS/slept most of the way, and then met up with Jane, Joann, Lizzie, and Melissa for a v. late lunch. We went to a candle-making store and made candles, which was really fun. Unfortunately, it didn't involve any candle dipping; instead, you get to cut up various colored blocks of wax and put them into a mold, which is then bonded together with white wax and cooled. It was entertaining to take out aggression with the wax-breaking process while gossiping with my friends...and even better, my candle turned out really well, which pleased me. Dinner was tasty, the 80s cover band that we always bring to the party was as good as ever, and hanging out with the girls plus Jay has been great. Now, though, I'm tired, and looking forward to sleeping in a real, real bed for a night.
I will say, despite my sober status, that friends are still the bombdiggitysss. I love you all :)
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The Candle Indoors
Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by.
I muse at how its being puts blissful back
With yellowy moisture mild night's blear-all black,
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.
By that window what task what fingers ply,
I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack
There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.—
Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire
Mend first and vital candle in close heart's vault:
You there are master, do your own desire;
What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault
In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?
Gerard Manley Hopkins
In 1884 he became professor of Greek literature at University College Dublin. His Englishness and his disagreement with the Irish politics of the time, as well as his own small stature (5'2"), unprepossessing nature and own personal oddities meant that he was not a particularly effective teacher. This as well as his isolation in Ireland deepened his gloom and his poems of the time, such as I Wake and Feel the Fell of Dark, reflected this; called by Hopkins "terrible sonnets".
After suffering ill health for several years and bouts of diarrhoea, Hopkins died of typhoid fever in 1889 and was buried in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerard_Manley_Hopkins#Life
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