Balls and hell, it got late, the lateness crept up on me and now it's like a million late, and I have another paper to write! Balls! Hell!
...And yet I am not panicking. That last bit was just an attempt to drum up the panicstricken gumption that I think I need in order to do my work. I think the 5 phases of grief include resignation; the 5 phases of schoolwork-related emotion, if such a thing has ever been canonized, must include the same.
FL organic agriculture! Fuck yeah!
(That was an attempt at enthusiasm.)
In other news, I met Kimya Dawson (the chick from the Moldy Peaches, who has a solo career now, and plays these pretty and occasionally vulgar acoustic songs), just like, an hour ago. She played on campus...I might have to go fellate whoever arranged that because Kimya is that awesome. After her set I went and talked to her and she hugged me. She is kind of my hero and I told her so.
I spent the weekend in St. Pete with my boy. I got a lot of work done, not only on this paper , but on this children's story I started about a year ago. I finished it yesterday in one fell swoop: had some revelation about how it should end, and wrote breathlessly (due in part to excitement and in part to chain smoking, but don't tell that to the kids) to its conclusion in about 3 hours. It turned out exactly how I wanted and I'm proud of it.
Things are a little funny with my boy. I sometimes think he doesn't like me very much because I'm used to boys who swoon at my feet. In a way that keeps it exciting and intense because he's still, after 6 months, a challenge. In other ways, though, it makes the whole thing frustrating, because I never know what's going on with us. Like I think if I was like, "hey buddy, it's over," he'd just say, "okay, peace out." Sometimes I just doubt that he cares. I'm moving up there for the summer and he's pretty much the only person I know in the area, so I know I have to work some things out with him. It's not an issue of commitment. He can sleep with whoever he wants to; god knows I do. I guess I just wish he felt like more of a friend than some cute boy who's only "there" when we're physically together (although, admittedly, the physical togetherness part rocks my world).
We did go out and dance to 80s music for hours last night. We were 2 of the only 4 people on the dance floor. He is a super fun person in the sense that he is completely un-self-conscious and is totally willing to goof around. I find very little sexier than that.
My work won't be done by tomorrow, I realize, but it will be done by Tuesday, and then I can go see Shayle. She's the greatest.
Paper time! PAAAAAAAPER WOOOOOOOOO!
...And yet I am not panicking. That last bit was just an attempt to drum up the panicstricken gumption that I think I need in order to do my work. I think the 5 phases of grief include resignation; the 5 phases of schoolwork-related emotion, if such a thing has ever been canonized, must include the same.
FL organic agriculture! Fuck yeah!
(That was an attempt at enthusiasm.)
In other news, I met Kimya Dawson (the chick from the Moldy Peaches, who has a solo career now, and plays these pretty and occasionally vulgar acoustic songs), just like, an hour ago. She played on campus...I might have to go fellate whoever arranged that because Kimya is that awesome. After her set I went and talked to her and she hugged me. She is kind of my hero and I told her so.
I spent the weekend in St. Pete with my boy. I got a lot of work done, not only on this paper , but on this children's story I started about a year ago. I finished it yesterday in one fell swoop: had some revelation about how it should end, and wrote breathlessly (due in part to excitement and in part to chain smoking, but don't tell that to the kids) to its conclusion in about 3 hours. It turned out exactly how I wanted and I'm proud of it.
Things are a little funny with my boy. I sometimes think he doesn't like me very much because I'm used to boys who swoon at my feet. In a way that keeps it exciting and intense because he's still, after 6 months, a challenge. In other ways, though, it makes the whole thing frustrating, because I never know what's going on with us. Like I think if I was like, "hey buddy, it's over," he'd just say, "okay, peace out." Sometimes I just doubt that he cares. I'm moving up there for the summer and he's pretty much the only person I know in the area, so I know I have to work some things out with him. It's not an issue of commitment. He can sleep with whoever he wants to; god knows I do. I guess I just wish he felt like more of a friend than some cute boy who's only "there" when we're physically together (although, admittedly, the physical togetherness part rocks my world).
We did go out and dance to 80s music for hours last night. We were 2 of the only 4 people on the dance floor. He is a super fun person in the sense that he is completely un-self-conscious and is totally willing to goof around. I find very little sexier than that.
My work won't be done by tomorrow, I realize, but it will be done by Tuesday, and then I can go see Shayle. She's the greatest.
Paper time! PAAAAAAAPER WOOOOOOOOO!