Busy Work of Death

This is known as The chair. By Hans Wegner. I like it, but its maybe not The chair. y'know.

The busy-work of death assignment--at least thats what I call it. So one of my projects this semester was to create a "Catalog of classic modern interiors, furniture, and architecture". Wow. But it gets better. The project description was 65 two-page spreads, left side is a write up and right side is a picture. That is 65 write-ups, and 65 pictures for a grand total of 130 pages. It took approximately 50 hours to finish, which for me is kind of a lot. But wait. There's more. My teacher actually laid out exactly what 65 things that she wanted. And told us what she wanted it to look like. I mean, I'm all for getting what you ask for, but really? I feel like she thinks we're five. Also I basically just parroted a combination of lecture and wikipedia. Which seems a bit like a waste of time to me. Especially since after looking at her PowerPoints and reading online, I have realized that she copies her lectures word for word from online. Hence the name. Busy work of death.

But at least its turned in. Now is the part where we let the chips fall where they may.

Bah.

Making your life better since...2009

So as you may (or most likely may not) have noticed, I haven't exactly updated my blog lately. There are multiple reasons for this treachery, including, but not limited to:

My life is really busy. Really.

I'm not thinking any new thoughts.

I have no new insights.

Nothing new is happening in my life. Just the same old busy stuff.

I stopped being inspired.

In summary, no one wants to hear me complain about the same things over and over. Just because I'm freaking out about life doesn't mean that everyone else needs to suffer. So, just to recap:

I don't hate you, or even blogging, I'm just thinking about the same things all the time and don't want to annoy people for rehashing it.* So, now that you realize the marvelous gift I have bestowed on you, feel free to be grateful. Just me, y'know, making your life better.

*Also, an apology to C and to my poor mother, who I have not ceased rehashing life to.