reflections

Overall, Thursdays are not that great.

Chose a theme for our conference: reflections. Not sure how this will all play out but I am going to help design the poster, among other things I'm sure.

[It's nearly 9PM and class is finally over. oh right, I should probably take a picture of something..]

someday I might regret not relaying more in these messages, in the textual portions of these journals. I need to be better, better about finding that tiny moment, that miniscule element to clasp at, latch on to like mating frogs do with each other, swimming around in their deathgrip hug. Wasn't it an Annie Dillard essay where she talked about seeing a bird (a hawk or something), flying around with a weasel (I think) skeleton on it's ankle. She talks about how dedicated the weasel was after it's death even, it wouldn't let go, even as the bird pecked it to death, tearing it open from behind in their struggle. And the bird, who'd won, flies around now with the skeleton dangling from it like some sort of badge, or war ribbon, the jaws still locked around its talon. It went something like that. I want to be that hawk. Or the weasel. Wait..