So, I had planned to write a post on getting grounded tonight. Basically, the idea was that being grounded is important, and lately I've been searching desperately for that grounding center that I've apparently lost somewhere along the way in the last months. I even got myself nice and grounded for writing by returning to my musical roots (I'm listening to Joanna Newsom, if you don't know her, you should try her. If you don't like her, I understand, I used to hate her).
Anyway, I found out a couple of minutes ago that I have an essay due tomorrow. Ok..."found out" is not the right phrase, "was reminded" is better. Either way, I have lost any sense of groundedness (again) and am currently FREAKING OUT! I had to write something tonight, because if I didn't I would not forgive myself for failing my goal of writing on here every day, but today, because History of Music is a truly trying and difficult class, this post is basically an "OHMYGODILOVEYOUGUYSBUTCAN'TWRITEAREALPOST" post (If you read all of that coherently the first time, I'm impressed). So, now I really must go write about music (which I'm not that good at anyway). Toodles.
Thing to be grateful for today: V-V, one of my best friends in the world, who is the one that reminded me about this essay five minutes ago.
Hah. I read the title and first sentence thinking you meant "grounding" as in "restricting a teenager to his home as a disciplinary measure." I was trying to imagine what you could have done that required that your parents ground you between when I dropped you off in your driveway this evening and when you posted this. It boggled the imagination.
ReplyDeleteHAHAHAHAHA!!! Actually, they caught me smuggling illegal gnome dust into my room. Very hallucinogenic stuff, there.
ReplyDeleteGnome dust?! Do you have to dry and grind up gnomes to get that?! Then what, do you snort it?
ReplyDeleteYES! I have a vast gnome-grinder in my hall closet (ever seen Sweeney Todd? That's the kind of grinder I have). I shove a good ten or twelve gnomes in there at a time, telling them that going through it will improve their self esteem (they have to be alive, you see, and what I tell them is not technically untrue, because once they're dead, they won't care about those odd hairs coming out of their kneecaps). Then I dry their remains and snort them through a very Seussian horn.
ReplyDeleteThat was frighteningly specific.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad I'm not a gnome.
ReplyDelete