in this concrete world

So, today was the writing of examen numéro trois... yay anatomy!! I have an exam tomorrow (for which I've yet to study... grr to me) and the last on Tuesday of next week. And then, I get a break from school for a whole week before starting my spring class. woo. I'm listening to Switchfoot right now. How I do enjoy their music so so so much. I've been humming "Concrete Girl" to myself all day, for some reason. It has been my theme song for the week; mainly due to the exam period factor and due to all the death at work. I'm serious, everyone is dying.

Not to dwell on such morbid things today is my sincerest desire. So yeah. I have a little pig on my lap swathed in a blue towel. George is squealing/purring quite contentedly and loudly, might I add. He likes when you squish him ^{but not too hard, naturally...} I don't really have a whole heck of a lot to say right now. I played to play some new piano pieces tonight just moments ago. Handel and Beethoven always make me happy. I bought a watercolour technique book on tuesday. I'm planning on picking up that hobby again once school ends. It's been too too long since I last painted. I even splurged and bought a new paintbrush ^{but it wasn't too much of a splurge because it was half price and quite inexpensive to begin with...}

I was watching the news tonight also and on Le Point, some interviewer was interviewing Paul Martin and afterwards, Stephen Harper. The interviewer was the best. Honestly, his questions were awesome. I could repeat some of it, but it would most likely be boring to read. However, it was great to watch. I hate politics and somehow love them all at once.. ^{how is that possible?}

I finished reading Homer's The Iliad last week. That book left me feeling surprisingly quite depressed, once completed. So, to overcome all of the ideas of the book that were tumbling around in my mind, I immersed myself into another classic, notably Nineteen Eighty-four by George Orwell. I actually really liked the book. It was crazy. It's astounding to me how anyone can be so talented as to write some of the things that have been written over time. Above all though, reading inspires me to write. All this to say, I enjoyed the book. I wasn't crazy so much about the turture scenes, primarily because I have copiously vivid amounts of imagination. This caused me to actually want to shut out the pictures in my mind concerning some of the details the author expressed. I liked how the book made me reflect though on the subjective definition of Freedom; what it means to me and how it can be obtained.

Okay, I'm out.