la cucina.

This was my kitchen before I laid hands on it. (Hint: The word you're looking for is "unappealing.") Kinda makes you want to squirt lemon juice into your eyes, huh?



















And here it is after:
























Although, it's a little different now because there's a backsplash and other accoutrements behind the sink area, not to mention the wall by the dishwasher and fridge is fixed after the installers took their sweet time destroying it. And the cabinets are espresso, however black they may look in the photos. These pictures are old and I don't feel like taking new ones. I rather like my little modern kitchen. It's fun to cook in, especially with the gas stove. Sigh. C'est parfait, n'est pas? Le mot est oui.

Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!

I've been reading a lot of Shakespeare lately, mostly because I feel like even my college classes only skimmed the surface. And mostly because I don't have cable yet. Cough.

Many of his plays deal with fate and the role it plays in the lives of the characters. Which has led me to conclude that fate is a funny notion. (e.g. Romeo and Juliet--they were fated to be lovers and they relish that, but at the same time, Romeo doesn't want to accept the fact that Juliet was fated to die.) I find that if something good happens, it's easy to accept that it was "meant to be." But the same doesn't hold true for the opposite. When things don't go my way, it's harder to believe that it's supposed to happen that way. I believe that each person has things they were meant to do because of the talents and personality traits they were given. At the same time, though, I think it's dangerous to let a notion such as a single "destiny" drive your life and make you blind to what's real.

The analytical (read: dominant) side of me would enjoy sitting and dissecting everyday occurrences to decipher meaning and hidden bits of truth. And I could probably make meaning out of my life that way. Yet I've found that being lost in your own mind and inner "life" causes you to miss out on reality and life going on around you. And doing the above would make me a really boring and selfish person because I'd only be trying to discover what everything means for me. Real life doesn't happen that way and I'm now content to believe "Que sera, sera" and trust that it's for the better, no matter what.

i read too much poetry.

It is love that I am seeking for,
But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind
That is not in the world.


WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS, The Shadowy Waters

so, so tired.

that's all.