Have just written a terribly shitty story about Greyhound stations and leaving and disconnection and doughnuts. It's worse than the pregnancy test story, and the grandma story, and everything else I've turned in so far, and what's worse: it's ten pages longer than those things. This means I will not be able to use it for one of my readings, and that I am about to make an idiot of myself in front of my impressive classmates and most encouraging professor. After the day I've had, though, it's kind of a triumph just getting it finished at all.
Had a whole different nightmare, last night, which ended in rape, but was surprising and awful and full of people I consider safe. It really threw me off, and so did something in a Shelley poem we read for class, and I've just been scattered and crazy and trying to hold it together, and not doing too well. The thought of next semester, with comps and senior seminar and physics and grad school applications and taking over Headwaters, is already exhausting me, which is totally unfair, since it's all exactly what I want. And I'll have my own room for it, looks like, and that will help.
Okay, my very sleepy girlfriend just called; she says she can't sleep 'til I come to bed, which is in the Willage, which is a very cold walk from here. So I need to get on that, now, since this is undoubtedly going to be the best part of my day: walking into her warm room, taking off my glasses and setting my alarm, being pulled into bed by this sweet, sleepy girl who makes these days shine, in spite of all my complaints. Goodnight; I'll have better news tomorrow, I promise.
Had a whole different nightmare, last night, which ended in rape, but was surprising and awful and full of people I consider safe. It really threw me off, and so did something in a Shelley poem we read for class, and I've just been scattered and crazy and trying to hold it together, and not doing too well. The thought of next semester, with comps and senior seminar and physics and grad school applications and taking over Headwaters, is already exhausting me, which is totally unfair, since it's all exactly what I want. And I'll have my own room for it, looks like, and that will help.
Okay, my very sleepy girlfriend just called; she says she can't sleep 'til I come to bed, which is in the Willage, which is a very cold walk from here. So I need to get on that, now, since this is undoubtedly going to be the best part of my day: walking into her warm room, taking off my glasses and setting my alarm, being pulled into bed by this sweet, sleepy girl who makes these days shine, in spite of all my complaints. Goodnight; I'll have better news tomorrow, I promise.
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