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I'm pretty sure that yellow legal pads make the best purchases. Those or college ruled notebook paper. I love college ruled notebook paper. It begs, "write!"

I can't find the right music. It's a fairly common occurrence, sometimes I go months in a strange musically passionless limbo. Going through my vinyl, I have trouble finding that perfect one to fit my mood. Feist is all well and good but not today. [As a rule I don't prefer buying newer artists on vinyl, but really if you don't have The Reminder you should probably rush to your nearest record store and buy it.] It is on days such as these that I wonder if I should listen to music at all. The sound of it has become so familiar to me though that to not hear it in my free time, my writing time, and my studying time would be like not hearing my own breath. I should take a break. This morning as my room mates were getting ready for church, I stood in the middle of my sunlit bedroom with a cup of coffee and reveled over Janis Ian's record Between the Lines. I explained to my roommate Aimee with animated motions that put my coffee in great danger how ahead of her time Janis Ian was. 

"I mean, listen to these strings! Just listen! Man, I can't get over how amazing this is."

She stood in the hallway looking incredulous. 

"It's times like these that I could make fun of you, but decide not to."

"What?"

"Come on, Janis Ian?"

I rushed to the other side of the apartment to pursue Stacy's opinion and gain her agreement. She had no idea who Janis Ian was. Bess didn't really care. I hold to my belief that the woman was an absolute genius. 

I'm reading Mansfield Park right now. Jane Austen is brilliant, but this book is possibly the biggest mistake she ever made. Instead of creating a likable, normal heroine for me to relate to as is her custom, I've had the witless, spineless, opinion-less, self-pitying Fanny Price thrown into my lap. Granted, authors who can create a somewhat uncomfortable main character who have some sort of motion in their lives are to be respected, but the main cast of Mansfield Park is so static, so unmoving in their morally lacking lives that nothing is ever resolved. Poor form Miss Austen, poor form.  I'm dragging my heels with this novel. 

I had quite the pleasant Valentines Day surprise yesterday on my return from Natchez. It spurred on an agreeable afternoon in which I had my first ever slack-lining experience [if you don't know what slack-lining is, go here] in which I think I fared pretty well for a first time. There was no walking on my part but I managed to get up and stay up for a couple of seconds, which apparently is good for a first try.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.