So, sorry guys for not posting in so long. My upcoming posts are kinda image-heavy and blogger is doing this neat thing where it decides not to post images. It sucks. So, I figured I'd just put up some little scraps of stuff I threw down with plans to take them sometime from "rough draft" to "coherent and amusing post". Plus a teaser for one of the pieces I'm currently working on. Woo, fun! And hopefully soon blogger will stop failing.
IBOMGWTFBBQ
Who remembers this bit of conversation from this post about IB lunch?
The discussion shifts to my opinion that paying for a sub when we have a student teacher every day is a waste of the school’s money. I comment that “a monkey could sub a class of IB kids”.
Rubix: If a monkey stuck a video in and told me to watch it, I’d watch that movie!
Me: No, Rubix, you’d watch the monkey.
Rubix: True. But if it left, then I’d watch!
Me: Are you joking? I’d follow the talking monkey!
In TOK, we watched a movie called Waking Life. In that movie, there is a scene where a talking monkey shows a video to a class.
I'll say that again.
In TOK class we watched a video of a talking monkey showing a class a video.
After we talked, and I wrote, about being shown a video in TOK class by a talking monkey.
Rubix and I lost it. It was so incredibly perfect and funny. My mind, she is blown!
Unfortunately we freaked out so much over it that TOK Teacher had us explain the cosmic significance to the class and nobody else thought it was nearly as amazing.
A list Roi and I came up with during a specifically excruciating time of stress:
Inane Bureaucracy
Intelligent BS
Imminent Burnout
Impossible Burden
Increasing Bitterness
Invisible Benefits
Impending Breakdown
Idiotic Buzzwords
Immense Books
Infinite Boredom
(readers are encouraged to submit their own!)
From "Juicy" (one-word prompt inspiration from Frenchie)
Juicy. The story spread, delicious on young wet lips, facts luscious and succulent. Words sinfully sweet as drops from the forbidden fruit that cursed the womb of earth, deep red and strange as birth.
Deidre hadn’t meant those words, hadn’t meant for the story to become what it did. But when her best friend Frasier asked her that morning how the appointment had gone, everything moved, sloshed around in her mind, opaque red and sickly. Her hand went to her stomach, flat, eternally dead. The metal of her jeans snap under her thumb, she remembered the doctor’s voice, womanly low, earnest sympathy overtaking her disbelief but not the shame.
