My bed, centered.

I rearranged my room around the other day. Now my bed sits in the middle of my room and here I am upon it, sick. It’s not bad though. With my Nepali stars hanging on my ceiling (bought from Ten Thousand Villages, located conveniently in Squirrel Hill – nudge, nudge), I feel like I’m situated in some mystical place that is far from Canonsburg. Or something.

I watched Babel last night here too, under my covers. With the exception of the vagina flashing, I thought it was an exceptional movie. I mean you couldn’t ask for a more romantic scene with Brad Pitt and Galadriel (a.k.a. Cate Blanchett). Boy, I wish I could find someone to make out with me while I was peeing. Sigh, only in Hollywood.

As for more important matters, I am still debating which graduate schools I should apply to for next fall. Being back home makes me careful to choose distant locations that I once dreamed about traveling to. I am letting my former Political Theory professor decide my fate as he once told me that a happy compromise between Political Science and Anthropology would be to choose International Development or another similarly “culturally sensitive” subject. And since I’m not too keen on self-determination, I think I’ll just follow his lead and see where it gets me.

Now back to the ways I enjoy my bed. I’m reading “The Quiet American” by Graham Greene since I loved his “The Power and the Glory” (see my profile). So far it’s been a smooth read. Recently I’ve been throwing books around without completing them. Very unlike me, very unfair to the author. So I hope this little bugger will get me through to the back cover. I am now Australian.