Keep Your Basket Covered in the Woods

historicalslut:

mswyrr:

punkrockmuffinatrix:

ladyhistory:

Once upon a time I was writing a research proposal and there was one piece of evidence I really needed to find. I looked and looked and looked and when I finally found it I might have possibly weirded out the librarian by doing a THE PRIMARY SOURCE I CAN HAZ IT jig in my seat. :) Possibly.

you know you’re a historian when….

I started squealing, clapping, and dancing in my seat when I found the fashion plate I really needed for a paper. In the middle of a silent library. I CAN’T HELP MY PRIMARY SOURCE DOCUMENT EMOTIONS, YA’LL. THEY HAPPEN.

I am drinking vodka out of a Beatles coffee mug, reading Persuasion and doing response papers while the Time Warp plays on repeat.

I’ve lost control of my life and I leave for England in roughly 36 hours.

I am responsible for nothing.

I AM GOING TO WATCH DEADWOOD AND WRITE ABOUT DANCING LESBIANS BECAUSE FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY.

ALY OUT!

Someone take the western away from me.

Make it stop.

I’m supposed to be reading Jane Austen I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

I’m going to get to that Camero spam eventually I swear

I wrote a coherent response with only a few allusions to McCarthyism.

Coast is clear, y’all.

Because I can’t sleep, have a few updates on my life. I have nothing better to do with my time.

Spleen: They think it’s the gall bladder. Don’t look at me. These people employ nurses that apparently don’t know where the spleen is in the first place. I get my results the same day I go to another doctor in the same building to get a physical to approve my boob surgery. Should be a great day.

Chronic Pain Issues: They are many and they really, really fucking hate the cold. My hip, back and finger/wrist area have been the worst lately, though my knee has been acting up as well. I have to wait for the spleen issue to get taken care of and the boob surgery to be done before I start on investigating the finger issues, though, so. We’ll see.

School: I procrastinate like it’s my fucking job. I should look for something else to occupy my time with, but I am consistently just… not feeling well for some reason or another, so I’m pretty sure if I added anything to my schedule I would peter out real damn fast. Which sucks, because I spend a lot of time being bored and stewing when I don’t have enough shit to do.

Novel: TWENTY PAGES LEFT TO HACK APART HOLY FUCKBALLS THE END IS IN SIGHT. I mean, then I have to actually start rewriting the damn thing, but at least I won’t have to deal with post-its anymore? IDK, YA’LL, THERE IS A PHASE AND IT IS NEARLY DONE.

Social Life: I’ve decided I am going to hole myself up in my room and not deal with anyone ever unless it involves watching fun TV shows with them. I will leave for Spring Break, and not a moment sooner.

Tonight: I skyped with someone, read an article for my history seminar, and spent four hours watching The Sing Off videos on Youtube.

Thus concludes the State of the Aly address. Resume your posts.

I stopped being productive three hours ago.

Go to bed, Aly. Seriously.

And stop talking to yourself.

What. The fuck.

I seriously woke up with my laptop on my lap with a slight amount of keysmashing that happened when I fell asleep while typing. Or thinking about what I was going to type.

I kind of just want to go to bed and say “fuck it” but, uh. Probably not the best of life choices.

I also found out that Downton Abbey has just gone up on Netflix the week after I bought it, the bastards.

Now maybe if I buy Fringe and Supernatural on DVD, they’ll show up on the Instant Queue.

It’s a brilliant plan.

One that involves me having at least one hundred more dollars to spare than I do.

On the plus side, they’ve started adding the Python episodes from the disc I lost, both True Grits and more Bones.

Yup. This was my Friday night.

I really don’t like being sick.

And I will start watching Supernatural again when I am assured by my massive spoiler-y dash that Cas and Bobby are back and the boys are smiling and Baby is all shiny and pretty and everything is sunshine and daisies, goddamnit.

And after Fringe airs. I’ll be watching that one live, because that show might actually patch up my broken little shell of a heart. Maybe. Hopefully.

Why do I like TV shows that destroy me? Why?

Hold me, you guys. I just. I can’t.

It’s so bad, ya’ll.

Help.