Admittedly, I love my university. I am a thirsty little bookworm, and I appreciate the opportunity to drink in the fruits of humanity’s collective contributions to philosophy and science…I’m just aching for a chance to break out of academia. I am working on my final paper for sociology, and driving myself a tad crazy trying to compose it perfectly. I’m writing about deviant behavior and lobbying for a reclassification of Otherkin as non-deviants. Given the biases that exist within our society, I feel as though I have my work cut out for me.
I catch myself dreaming of some charm school I might have attended, had I been born cis-temporal 150 years ago.
At my university there are no foreign language classes, and the more I get on in life the more I wish I knew one of the romance languages. That’s something quite rootedly intellectual that I would have found at finishing school. I have managed to teach myself to cook fairly well, but it would have been nice to have a little formal training. And if I could only sew! What a time I live in, where I don’t know anyone who could help me learn. There are all sorts of little things that happen day-to-day that I wish someone would help me correct as well. I ought to know better, and yet I often jumble my Can-I’s with my May-I’s, forget to sit straight, and rest my arms on the table. It is hard to learn proper etiquette when no one around you is concerned with it.
The one thing I am willing to boast about is my posture while walking. When I was younger I practiced with books on my head religiously. Either I have a flat head or tremendous posture, because I got particularly good at it. To be honest, it was sort of a nervous habit. Whenever I was stressed or feeling less than, I would pace…and yet I wanted my pacing to be productive, so I practiced my posture while I was at it. A book on my head often took the troubles off of my mind.