I spent the morning watching JFK conspiracy theories on the History Channel, and I officially trust no one. Now I'm watching something about whether or not Hitler and Ava Brown actually committed suicide. So thank you, History Channel, for teaching me today that history kind of sucks. Have you ever thought about how much we essentially know because we trust the accounts of others? Who ever knows what's true? I mean, I realize there are primary sources and written documents to rely on, but how much of history is accounted for that way? How do I know that Hitler had one testicle and wasn't accepted into art school? Did he say that in his Mein Kampf rubbish? And how did someone decide that Alexander the Great was gay? Did he throw his javelin like a girl? I'm not discrediting the truth of modern knowledge, but I'd love to learn about the proof. How did the history book come to know this? That'd be kind of fascinating. If this teaching thing doesn't work out I'm going to become a historian. Or an exterminator. Because I've never hated anything more than a gnat, and killing one brings such satisfaction. But that is neither here, nor there.
That gives you a little taste of my life right now. My health has been kind of crummy, so I've spent a large amount of time watching TV. Shark Week never had such great timing. Although, I'm realizing how much of Shark Week repeats itself. I've often been fooled to think that The Discovery Channel was amazing for providing such infinite footage of sharks. But no...the show about shark bites WAS quite similar to the other show about shark bites. And, Air Jaws is indeed the same Air Jaws I watched 3 days prior. Just so you know.
When I finish updating you today, I'm going to go start packing my room. I basically have to move into a new apartment AND a new classroom this week. I'm trying not to hyperventilate in the reality of how much work this will require. So far, so good. But that's mostly because I'm still able to think of tons of reasons to avoid it. You know...like blogging, considering whether or not Oswald acted alone, and mourning the loss of Berkman to the Yankees. I procrastinate until I have just the right amount of pressure built up. It's what I do. You are more than welcome to come help me. I'm so serious. In fact, I demand it. I'll buy you lattes and provide orange slices. Think about it.
Ok, friends. I'm going to go be a productive young woman. I'll let you know when I'm in my new place with another pointless post. Check ya later.