Life:, word of the day

Word of the Day: Susurrus

Horror films have always freaked me out. I’m a huge fan if the gore is comedic somehow, but overall I’m hyper-sensitive to suspenseful elements and a bit of a drama queen…and a bit gullible. All it takes is a susurrus as the scene pans over the treeline and I’m all, noooooo don’t go in there! There’s a mummy, a masked murderer, a creature. It’s a trap! Get to the choppah! There’s no hope. Game over, man. Straight up, zero to Humperdink:

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Susurrus [soosuruh s], in Latin means a whisper, but the more contemporary definition includes a whisper, a murmur or a soft rustling sound. It’s just enough to put you on edge.  In video, susurruses are a great tool to transition into mysterious scenes without going all Freddie Foreshadowing. In real life, though, if you hear one, maybe run.

And in the meantime, maybe keep on that cardio.


Need more vocabulary? Learn to stultify, endogenously!

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Life:, Portfolio:, Writing

Be Boundless: Life at UW

It was August of 2014 when I was accepted, you may recall, and since then the University of Washington has been my home away from home. I’ve been elbow deep in the printmaking studio. It still blows my mind that 4000 students applied to sit where I sit. And I can see why, we have pretty nice chairs. Also around the time I was matriculated, UW adopted a new motto: be boundless. You can’t miss it. This giant signage in Red Square serves to remind me of those words from orientation, “the admissions officers were trained not only to find students who would excel, but who would be most likely to change the campus for the better.”

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Life:, Writing

Recovery

Hi there. Sunshine here. I’m climbing up from the depths of post-op recovery because, well, for a few reasons. One, because I missed you. Two, forcing oneself to sit still, with minimal laughter–which hurts, lifting–which hurts and transitioning from sitting to standing–which, you guessed it, hurts is HARD.

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And for another reason, this guy here–this flower-bringin, dinner cooking, heavy-stuff-liftin’, hard-workin, dead-sexy dude deserves the biggest possible thank you from me.

If I am sunshine, he is sky.

Beside childrearing, partnership is the most natural hardcore undertaking we do as humanfolk. It’s universal, running the gambit from arranged marriages to polygamy; high society or lower class doesn’t matter: people get together. When we walk down the aisle, jump the broom, whathaveyou, there’s no way of knowing what waits at the end of your timeline. Anything can happen.

Through sickness and in health…

The emphasis on your wedding day isn’t on the sickness. And even when I said sickness I envisioned influenza, pneumonia…anything besides the very stark reality that I couldn’t stand up alone. That I had to pee and–if it was anything like the last one was, excruciating pain was in my future. That my poor husband–after working a full day, cooking all the meals and cleaning all our messes–would need to physically pull my legs around, set my feet down, take me up by the arms like a baby, follow every painful step as I cried wept, undress and hug me-bearing my weight-into a seated position, leave whilst business was handled and then return to lift and accompany me back to bed, lifting my feet, fluffing the pillows, bringing me ice, timing the pain meds, and keeping me hydrated.

Well I just don’t know. Even as I lay here, truly pathetic I was am in absolute awe at his love. I’m still searching for a gesture large enough to adequately represent my gratitude, but then he reminded me of something. He had surgery months before me and I had already done the exact same thing for him.

Huh.

I mean, it definitely was a memorable time, but nothing in my mind’s eye is even close to the burden I feel like I’ve been. What I remember most is that it was several days in a row that we got to be together. Harry Potter marathon. Infinite cuddles. None of the lifting, cleaning, running up and down stairs I’m so aware of now that he’s doing it for me.

We don’t have a surplus of money, student loans and bills mount, plus rent in Seattle is stupid, and our savings is exactly one hill of beans currently, but having someone there when you are at the lowest of the low, taking impeccable care of you, is to feel truly rich. thankyouthankyouthankyou 

Despite some complications such as tearing incisions, rashes and sharp pain, I’m feeling much better. Back to work, but moving much slower than usual. No heavy lifting or running for three months. The whole stupid gorgeous Washington summer, basically. Mope, mope.

But I’m in good hands.

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