Oh. Oh my.

Well, it's official. Everything is being packed up and shipped out. Well, I guess I'll be taking them home personally, but I just wanted to say 'packed up and shipped out' once in my lifetime.

Katy and I had a mini-party last night with pizza and soda and packing things. My walls are all naked, now. It's awkward. I almost feel like I should cover my eyes to keep them from getting embarrassed, however, they're only mine for a little longer, so I'll forcibly undress them and look all I want.

I have this pile of papers that I'm keeping. It looks messy. At first I was like, "Whoa, Jess. Too many keepsakes." Then I remembered that most of them are only in there because I have to study them for finals. In reality I have about five or six that I want.

Speaking of finals, since I spent my whole day yesterday packing, I didn't get a chance to study until about midnight. Or, I guess I should say I put it off until after midnight. So I panicked.

Then D called and distracted me again, which was okay. It was about 1:10am when I finally sat down with my stuff and actually looked at it. Most of my studying was staring at the words "Echinoderm" and telling myself, "You must remember this word." As I typed that I was listening to Ivan Vanko from Iron Man 2 saying, "No, I want my bird." Why, you ask? Because his statement gave the appropriate inflection to my statement. Perfect, even.

By about 1:20am my reaction to the study guide was this:

I figured a lack of sleep wouldn't help me, either. I'm good at Biology so I wasn't that worried. And boy, did my lack of work pay off.

Easiest test ever. I'm sure I got 99.89% of those questions correct. Plus, all of the bonus questions. So, hello super grade. Which is good because I'm not doing as hot in Biology as my other classes. Silly since it's one of my best subjects.

It's the online stuff. Gets me every time.

If the assignment is not put into my hands, yeah, no. Probably not going to remembered. If I see it on my desk, then I'll be like, "Oh, yeah. I should get on that." E-mail don't seem to work, either. Haha.

Oh, dear.

I have a bat symbol.

This is it:

That is all.

Funny below. 

Soon above, as well.

But not yet.

Storybook cancelled.

Or switched, anyways.

For my final in my Art class, I am supposed to create a storybook for small children. I have this ridiculously awesome poem that I really want to get published that I was going to use for the project. It's a sixteen stanza children's poem about a snail who has lost his shell and needs it to go to a dance. He ends up not finding it and realizes that living without a shell isn't so bad after all. Lots of other stuff happens too, like an encounter with a lazy frog, a wise duck and a lady friend, but yeah. It's pretty sweet.

Anyways, instead of doing an eight page watercolor storybook I was going to do a fourteen page one with large paper that I bought (for moar pictures) and rock everyone's socks off.

Now, my Professor had devised an eight page final plan and was handing out stuff we could use, however, she's pretty open to different methods as long as it follows the original and basic idea.

So I sent her an e-mail.

I had already started my artwork and was onto my third page when I sent her my ideas and pictures of my project to get her permission. She gave me the all-clear.

However, the very next time she saw me in class, I had my paper out and was working on it. This is what happened.

Appropriate I think. I was definitely raging.

Either way, my epic poem has been given the boot, so onto my next idea. 

 Instead of a cute poem that teaches children that it's okay to live with the circumstances of who they are, now they get a book that teaches them to eat people when they make fun of you for doing something dumb.

It's a good thing kids like dinosaurs.

Figure it out.

Well, it's Final's Week. Or, I suppose it might as well be. Just a few more days.

 Oh, dear.

Even on medicine it's hard for me to focus.

Also, wood glue takes a bajillion years to dry properly.

I've been working on a gap in my dagger for FOUR HOURS. Basically, one of the saws was a little busted the other night, and I, being mechanically inept, decided to use it anyways. Now my wood is all warped; that aside, it looks pretty ballin.'

I can fix it.

Damon, if you're reading this, it's an assassin's dagger. You might appreciate that.

Either way, it's due tomorrow at five. I need to glue it, sand that sucker, paint it, and put blood on it and pray to God that was the 'hint' George was referring to. Code word: 'Macbeth.'

If I'm right, automatic A+.

For now, while I'm waiting for the thirtieth layer of glue to semi-harden, I'm listening to Maroon 5.

SO MANY PROJECTS.

I have seven watercolors, sculptures, a storybook, a dagger, an ethical bio question and a two page paper due very, very soon. Sounds like baby stuff, I know, but holy crap. That's too much before finals. I'm already panicking. Well, not really. I'm not happy, though, but then again, who is during this time?

I suppose I should be counting my blessings that I'll be home in about ten days. Even though as my mother put it I won't be 'home' until May 9th. That's the day D leaves for his mission. For two years. I know it'll be fine, but it's a for serious countdown now. Scary, even.

I hope after that I can quickly get my butt out of the house, you know, before I turn into a total recluse. It could happen. It has happened in the past.

It'll be fine. He'll write...right?

ANYWAYS, enough with the heavy. Here's a funny story for the day:

In my Philosophy class we had to create something called a Kantian List. Basically it was twenty-five goals to help develop our talents and abilities, and twenty-five that would help other attain happiness. We were set in groups of three, and I sat with Amanda and another girl who I really like. I have no idea what her name is, though. It's only been the whole semester, haha.

Anyways, we're speedily reading off our personal lists when Amanda stops and snickers.

Her next item? Marry an Irish Scottish mountain man. (She wasn't sure about mountains in Ireland.)

Definitely one of the most interesting.

That's not the one I want to share, though.

We're onto the second list, (remember these are intended to bring others happiness) and we're having a class discussion sharing the best ones we could come up with. All of a sudden, a man in the back shouts, "Take Johanna on a date!" The Professor looked a little disgruntled, but humored, as the entire class roared in applause and laughter. I'm out of the loop so I leaned over to Amanda and asked who Johanna was. Right as I was asking, I heard the professor say, "Yeah, not going to give you an A+, and someone else shouted, "But it might give you a gunshot wound!"

Definitely the professor's daughter.

I don't think he fully appreciated the humor, but the rest of us sure did.

I've discovered my inner stripper.

Depending on your definition of course. If I'm in my room, I never wear clothes, so I don't think that counts as stripping so much as streaking. Well, in my underwear. Roommate has been horrified by my boobs more than once, the poor girl. I try to keep from traumatizing her.

Sometimes it can't be helped. If I'm changing in the bathroom and she sees them in the reflection of the microwave, whose fault is that?

Or, if I'm sleeping on my back and they just decided to peek outside my bra? Can that be helped? I don't believe so.

(Any of you who said I could've closed the door or worn a t-shirt during my nap: Shush. No.)

Poor Roommate.

My responses probably don't give much comfort, either.

Roommate: "GAH! YOUR BOOBS!"

Me: "What?"

Roommate: "I SAW THEM IN THE MICROWAVE REFLECTION THINGY."

Me: "You did?! Awesome! Want to see them again?!"

She didn't. I was disappointed.

Anyways, what I mean by my "inner stripper" is that on one of my escapades with make-up in the bathroom, somehow I managed to make myself look halfway attractive. Well, hot. I look hot. Maybe even hawt.

Maybe that's an overstatement. I don't play with it that often, but weird crap happens when I do.

Now I have long hair, and it's quite messy after having rolled around on the dorm room floor due to a text message from my dad saying the first duck had hatched from his batch of eggs. Feel free to roll around on the floor, as well. It's exciting, I know.

Also, I'm wearing SVU sweats, a black-tank bra and a pink over jacket. It doesn't sound attractive, but it is. I look like a stripper when she firsts arrives to work, you know, before the fireman outfit and the sliding poles. Now, that is something I could never pull off and I probably wouldn't try, either. That would be awkward for everyone.

Huh, looks like I wrote about boobs and strippers in one post. Go me!

I have no idea what I'm talking about, but I do know that I might be procrastinating.

Maybe.

And if you're my dad, and you're reading this, um, my work is all done. Yeah.

Usually brave, yes. Socially awkward...yes.

Irrational fears.

Sometimes we get over them.

Sometimes they get the best of us.

Sometimes they're just freaking awkward.

Most of mine fall into the third category. 

Here's a list of commonplace fears that affect me 0% of the time:

• Airplanes.
• Spiders.
• Roller coasters.
• Snakes.

Here's a list of commonplace fears that effect me 50% of the time:

• Heights. (doesn't really coincide with my non-fears, but is true.)
• Tight spaces (only when facing my imminent demise).
• Public speaking.

Normal fears for normal people. Nothing particularly unexpected.

Although, the way I can zoom through the air on planes or roller coasters without screaming a single time might seem a little strange due to my fear of heights. In fact, I could even venture to say that I find them relaxing. However, get me on something like a ferris wheel, and a state of absolute, uncontrollable hysteria emerges. I hate ferris wheels.

Here's a list of socially awkward fears that effect me 100% of the time:

• When clearing my throat immediately after someone else on the opposite side of a room, I immediately get concerned it could be misinterpreted as a mating call.
• Basketballs. Nothing about them in particular, though the feeling of flight intensifies when one is in the air. 
• Whenever I have a cut or scratch and a fly lands on it, I immediately envision being infested with maggots, and I die a little inside.
• If a piece of bread goes flat and sticks to the roof of my mouth, I panic because if I don't retrieve it immediately, it will stay there forever. This leads to embarrassing situations because I can't wait until I'm out of the public eye to do so.

I should work on that.

Breaking news! Sort of.

WAIT. Guess who hasn't blogged in a while?

Oh, my. Calm, yourselves. Take deep breaths; I know it's exciting. Anyways, upon writing that word I just realized how often I use the word 'anyways' in my writing as a transition.

Anyways, here's some news from the world of Jessica.

NEWS: (A dramatic bullet list.)

• Ferns are disgusting and they make me feel uncomfortable.

Why, you ask? Let me tell you the exact same little story I revealed to my friends Damon and Lori these past few days. Ferns have spores; this is common knowledge.* You know what those spores contain? Fern sperm. "But Jessica," you might say, "before you start, don't all plants reproduce in a way similar to this?" NO. NONONO.

This isn't the well-known pleasantry of pollination where bees carry juicy love dust from flower to flower.

No, this is fern sperm. It's flagellated. It swims. In fact, whenever it rains, these little gametes drop from their perch on the leaves and use the mud and muck to swim around until they find a partner. Then, from that very spot, another fern shall grow, and the entire process will repeat. 

What I'm telling you is, that dirt that squishes between your toes when you're feeling adventurous, and that mud that is covering the bottoms of your high-tops: fern sperm. Walking in the woods entails romping through tons and tons of wet, gooey fern sex. Delicious.

Don't even get me started on pinecones. Those "grenades" from our childhoods? Yeah...yeah.

(*Note: What isn't common knowledge is that some people believe rubbing spores from ferns on your hand relieves the sting of the nettle plant. It works. Try it. I mean, don't go purposely find nettle and rub it in your face, eyes or butt crack just to try it out; it could be purely psychological and I might be totally full of crap.)

• Neck nuzzling is never okay.

Except sometimes when it is okay, but this wasn't one of those times. If you've read my other pieces, you might recall a certain 'Student A.' I'm just going to tell you now, no. it hasn't stopped. 

Now 'Student A' is a bit socially awkward. A 'bit' being exponentially socially awkward, meaning it goes from normal circumstances to completely out of control in a matter of seconds. I'm nice to this boy, because I enjoy being nice to people, and I don't believe he's that hard to tolerate. Well, sometimes. Not everyone feels this way. All the same, prolonged exposure stirs ungenerous feelings, so at the beginning of class I usually have a desire to sit, well, not necessarily across the room, but I'd rather not sit directly next to him. The problem with this strategy is, if you want to avoid someone, you have to find them first.

Usually awkward eye contact is made at this point and, as he pats the seat next to him, I find myself walking over and taking that seat rather unwillingly. I won't be rude to him.

Sometimes I was successful. Most times I was not.

However, Student A has come up with an entirely new strategy that blows all of my chances of avoidance out of the water. As I walk in the room...

"JESSICA! HEY! HEY! JESS! HEY! HEY!" This is accompanied by wild arm waving and attempts at 'butt-jumping.' If you ever watched the show 'Cow and Chicken' as a kid, you may remember the red devil. You people know what I mean.

You can't ignore that. So there I sit.

On with my story.

Now, this particular day, I ended up being sandwiched between Student A and this awesome kid named Jake. Jake is pretty cool, and very sweet. One of those people who makes your whole day by just existing, and gives you an intense desire to go and pinch their cheeks, rumple their hair, or something to that effect, but you refrain because that would be totally creepy.

Well, maybe that's just me.

Anyways, I noticed him playing this 'guess what I drew' game that the kids are into now, and noticed his picture was addressed to a girl named Kelley. These two have been BFFs for as long as I have know them. They're both adorable. My curiosity got the better of me, so I asked if they were dating. He gave me a sheepish smile and nodded, and I thought I was going to explode and die right there, just from my sudden, overwhelming excitement. I suppressed a squeal or two. Again, I didn't tell him that because that would also be way creepy.

I'm starting to think that it is only me.

He was drawing *Bruce Lee, handicapped for Kelley, and as we were talking about it, Student A made his move. I didn't even know what happened.

All of a sudden, there was a face stuck in the crevice between my neck and shoulder blade. Nuzzling. He was complaining about something: a test grade, some comment George made, I have no idea. All I could think was, "NO. NO. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING."

I froze. I looked up at George, pleading, who was, of course, laughing hysterically. (Sometimes I wonder if he just waits for this, everyday.) He eventually came over and commented on the invasion of personal space that was occurring, and Student A quit. For the moment.

That wasn't the only traumatic thing that occurred that day. Maybe I'll tell the others later. On with the news!

(*Note)

• My lucid dreams are bound by (most of) the laws of physics. 

Shame, really. I hear about people that can fly in their dreams. D told me he's had dreams where he's been able to at least jump long distances.

Nope.

The three times I've had lucid dreams I've tried flying.

Nope.

They are few and far between. Well, the first two I had two days in a row. That was when I was still in high school, I think. I told my friend Nick about them. Something weird happened in each one where I was like: Wait. Not possible. For example, getting into my dad's Infinity and having the interior look like my mother's Tahoe. No flying.

Once I realized I was dreaming I could manipulate the shape and color of the car, though. Well, when I was outside of it, anyways. That's about it.

The second dream became lucid when I walked down my basement steps and realized, "Our backyard isn't a shark tank." Both times I'd concentrate really hard on flying from ground level. No dice. I even flapped my arms.

The third dream (last night) was when my friend Michael was up in Virginia, when suddenly I realized, "You don't live in Virginia..." Then I brought D into the dream who looked very confused as to how he got there, then I went to the window with the thought of flight. Maybe I was going to jump out and try to do it that way.

Thinking about how unsuccessful my past dreams have been, I'm glad I woke up.

• Scorpions aren't as reliable as you might think.

It's quite disappointing. My brother Aaron has traveled to India to go to a tech school there, and before he left Utah, he decided he would send me an interesting gift.

"Soon."

That's what he told me. Immediately excited, I asked if it was a *horse in a library; don't worry, if you don't understand I'll put a picture for you at the bottom for reference. He said yes. I asked if it was the whole library or just the room with the horse.

"Just the room with the horse. I was going to send you the whole library, but...I...didn't. They said it'll be there Friday."

(Almost witty. So close. One of the few times my brother has not come up with a clever retort.)

Thursday came, and an e-mail arrived shortly after eleven in the morning with a cheery "You have a package in the mail center!" Oh boy! At first I thought I had ordered something mysterious meaning I thought that I had forgotten I ordered something and it finally had arrived. Like a surprise gift to myself. Happens once a month, at least.

I got the e-mail at around 3:30, and waited until 4:40 to go down and check it out. I had a class at 5:00, it was a good excuse to wait.

I received my package and headed over to the dining hall to have a quick bite to eat. About halfway through my meal, I couldn't take it anymore. The patient curiosity that was meant to last until after my class had waned, and in an ecstatic frenzy I stabbed the box with a pen and violently ripped it apart. I might have even used my teeth, I'm not sure.

The first thing I saw was bubble wrap. That, in itself, was exciting. I removed it.

Then more bubble wrap. Removed.

More. Removed.

After the third layer I could seen a worn-down, bent and dirtied plastic container sealed with a rubber band. How curious. I reached in, picked it up, saw the holes in the lid, noticed the scorpion, screeched, and dropped it back into the box.

My sudden jumpiness was immediately replaced by complete excitement and thrill. I picked up the container and shook it gently. It didn't move. I flicked the lid. It didn't move. I shook it a little harder. Still no movement.

I then had to deal with the small wave of disappointment that my prize was no longer living, though it was only a slight sadness as compared to my humor that my brother had tried to send me a living scorpion by mail. I laughed for a very long time.

According to Aaron, that sucker had survived a week before he sent it. Unreliable.

The box is still on my desk.

And speaking of dead things, we dissected a squid in lab the other day. It was about a foot long, including tentacles. I stole it's eye. That's also on my desk.

Why did I steal it? Partially because I was fascinated by the fact that it was perfectly round, hard, and the size and color a white plastic BB but with a creepy pupil. Mostly because I just wanted to tell people that I had a squid eye in my possession. It's probably going to rot.

Sigh.

(*Note)