I feel like my posts have been kind of heavy lately, so I think I’ll just ramble a little in this one. Don’t expect any kind of organization from me in this post, as I’ve been wandering around in a dazed, sleep-deprived state. It’s just not gonna happen today.

I’ve been holed up in my room since I got home from work, because the house is currently a den of infection. When I get sick, I’m quarantined to my room, but my little brother and sister still have this cuteness factor that allows them to wander freely around the house, smearing their snotty hands over doorknobs and countertops.

Since the kitchen is currently infected (as they use their watery little eyes to beg for popsicles and cookies to comfort them in their weakened states), I cannot cook dinner. I might starve in my room. At least I found a new blog to amuse me.

That basically sums up my life. At some point, I’ll go back to reading my books, but I’m in the middle of some pretty heavy parts in both of them (Dragons of Winter Night and Sisterhood Everlasting). Don’t judge my reading material! I know you curl up with YA fiction when you think no one’s looking.

On another note, I’ve been wanting to do this for a vacation. How does that not look fun to you guys?! It might be clichéd to visit Forks, but no one can put on an outdoors party like those Northwesterners!

Last Saturday, my friend and I went to go see Midnight in Paris. Now, I know a lot of you people grumble about Woody Allen, but this is a much happier movie than Annie Hall! In the end, anyway. I had these cheap tickets to the Angelika, and the cast looked good (Kathy Bates, Adrien Brody, Rachel McAdams, Owen Wilson, Marion Cotillard, etc). It blew both of us away!

The main character gets transported into 1920s Paris and meets the Fitzgeralds, Hemingway (!!!lucky man!!!), Stein, Picasso, Dali, and others… It had this profound message about loving the time we’re in or whatever, but the best part was that it reminded me of how much I love the literature and artwork from the Lost Generation.

I’ll leave you with a Wilfred Owen poem:

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.
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