I was just standing up, teary-eyed from the conclusion of a certain internet movie, when a curtain rod with a full complement of drapery violently fell onto my face. After disentangling myself, I realized that the rod had not just fallen off of its holders. For some reason, the pressure I had somehow managed to exert on it while getting up from the couch was enough to make the rod pull apart at a joint out of pure spite.
What you have to understand is that inanimate objects, pieces of furniture in particular, don't like me. I've been scratched my by seemingly innocuous benches and bruised by ottomans. I've fallen backwards on chairs and slammed my fingers in drawers. My foot was once viciously attacked by an automated city bus door.
|Can't you see the murderous glint in its eyes? |
Just imagine it has eyes, okay?
Speaking of art, it turns out that I don't have enough arts credits to graduate. Which is funny, because I spend so much of my free time doing weird artsy stuff. I think I'll probably take either guitar or vocal arts (the fancy way to say "singing.") with the grade a year younger than mine next year, even though I play guitar and have had vocal training already. I don't have the pre-requisites for anything else.
That was sufficiently off topic. I think that I'll head off to bed before that lampshade finds something to be upset about.
*Entire meaning the time I didn't spend reading, sleeping, sitting on babies, or watching Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog.
** My grandmother is an Artist, which means that the walls of my house are covered with lovely canvases.