More weird dreams, this time about incomplete coursework. I dreamed that I thought I had finished everything for a course, but when I got my grades, I had neglected to do half the projects assigned, and I hadn't even realized it. (Once, a girl in my class sat down to take a final and realized she had never turned in a paper for a class she had taken 2 semesters before. What a way to start a test!)
Usually my freak-out dreams are about being at band contest, but I can't find all the parts to my uniform, and I don't know the drill or the music, and I am a last-minute replacement for someone. I have that one a lot. I haven't been in a marching band since 1993, but you can't take the band (John would say the nerd) out of the girl.
I really want to walk to Rivendell, but I haven't been good about remembering to put on my pedometer each day. I'm not walking for exercise, like another Rivendell-er, but just getting from place to place in my daily routine. I walked over a mile on Monday, and that was just going to tutoring and meeting my friend for lunch. Maybe I'll try it again if I ever take up exercise (not bloody well likely).
In the German department, we're required to take a course in preparation for writing the master's thesis and taking our exams. The only class requirement is to give a presentation on our topic and the progress we are making. Judging by the first two presentations, it is a totally painful process. The professor's objections and comments were totally spot-on, but she is so brusque that I think I would rather be eaten slowly by a tiger than have her dissect my work. Fortunately, the class is over-full due to some scheduling problems this semester, so I am off the hook for presenting. BUT, this is the professor who still has one of my (late) papers moldering under a pile in her office, so I will eventually get to experience her brand of critique. *cringe*
Someone made a Christmas tree out of Mountain Dew cans, but the end result is actually very cool. (Thanks to Gael at Pop Culture Junk Mail for the link.)
Hannah has been bemoaning her lack of Ken dolls for a while now, so she finally took matters into her own hands. Her least favorite Barbies have had their hair chopped off and their pink lips covered with white nail polish to become transgendered dolls. Maybe she should call them Chris.