(no subject)

Right, Moe, be happy.

Mum and dad've apparently been planning a combined birthday-thing for me and the beloved brother for weeks, but I've not gotten wind of it until now. Really great that, the way they plan something I'm expected to attend, without informing me. But, despite a few relatives of the cheek-pinching "look how much you've grown"-kind, I'm sure it'll be fun enough. Time to be grateful. And dad's off to some god-forsaken jungle for a week, in a land called something along the lines of Brunei. I envy him all the fun stuff he gets to do. Sans the moscito and the pre-jungle shots.

School-vise I'm half-doomed, the psychology's not doing itself - despite my heartfelt efforts to teach it the knack - and the sociology might take a few interesting turns. Simply put: I'm not joining my class the first few periods tomorrow morning, I can't deal with psychology yet. I need another weekend, and some serious work.

I've watched the last episode of Six Feet Under bordering on a double digit, by now, and I love it. I love the sentimentality of it. "Everyone's Waiting". Every time I end up sobbing as I regret putting it on at all. Why on earth would I love it, then? For the way they make the viewer cry - they're not rubbing it in, simply leaving us with a wonderful lasting image of the characters we've come to know. I cry for knowing my beloveds had happy life, for how Keith and David finally get married, Claire has her success, Brenda her baby's health, and Ruth her fun. (Heavens, if I'm not watching it, I'm listening to the song they play as everything ends: "Breathe Me".)

(no subject)

Right, Moe, be happy.

Mum and dad've apparently been planning a combined birthday-thing for me and the beloved brother for weeks, but I've not gotten wind of it until now. Really great that, the way they plan something I'm expected to attend, without informing me. But, despite a few relatives of the cheek-pinching "look how much you've grown"-kind, I'm sure it'll be fun enough. Time to be grateful. And dad's off to some god-forsaken jungle for a week, in a land called something along the lines of Brunei. I envy him all the fun stuff he gets to do. Sans the moscito and the pre-jungle shots.

School-vise I'm half-doomed, the psychology's not doing itself - despite my heartfelt efforts to teach it the knack - and the sociology might take a few interesting turns. Simply put: I'm not joining my class the first few periods tomorrow morning, I can't deal with psychology yet. I need another weekend, and some serious work.

I've watched the last episode of Six Feet Under bordering on a double digit, by now, and I love it. I love the sentimentality of it. "Everyone's Waiting". Every time I end up sobbing as I regret putting it on at all. Why on earth would I love it, then? For the way they make the viewer cry - they're not rubbing it in, simply leaving us with a wonderful lasting image of the characters we've come to know. I cry for knowing my beloveds had happy life, for how Keith and David finally get married, Claire has her success, Brenda her baby's health, and Ruth her fun. (Heavens, if I'm not watching it, I'm listening to the song they play as everything ends: "Breathe Me".)