The week from hell=procrastination.
So my friend Audrey made me get a tumblr... and it's a little awesome. Anyway, this is one of my favorite tumblrs to read every day: http://dearoldlove.tumblr.com
Some of the best entries:
You broke my heart, but refined my grammar and sense of style.
You were the first and only person I wanted to talk to when I heard about David Foster Wallace.
I still have your yoga mat. Some quiet nights I sit on it “Indian-style” and pretend it’s a magic carpet.
Mother told me, “Don’t buy the first coat you try on.” So I broke up with you. But in retrospect, I think she was talking about coats. Sorry.
I’ve gone through three phones since we last spoke. How many more before I stop transferring your number?
I should have left as soon as I saw your white golfing shoes with the tassels.
This isn’t over. I’m a fly to your bug zapper.
We broke up. Stop poking my mom.
Every time I drove you home, I prayed for traffic.
My Times subscription is still in your name. Either you never look at your credit card statement, or you want to stay in my life by providing me with a hard copy of the news.
You are a pop-up ad on the browser of my heart.
In other news, as if this week isn't stressful enough with papers and finals, I find out if I get the assistantship I applied for and if I paper I submitted to a conference is accepted. Basically, by the end of the week I will either be supergradstudent or a complete failure. Hooray!
Some of the best entries:
You broke my heart, but refined my grammar and sense of style.
You were the first and only person I wanted to talk to when I heard about David Foster Wallace.
I still have your yoga mat. Some quiet nights I sit on it “Indian-style” and pretend it’s a magic carpet.
Mother told me, “Don’t buy the first coat you try on.” So I broke up with you. But in retrospect, I think she was talking about coats. Sorry.
I’ve gone through three phones since we last spoke. How many more before I stop transferring your number?
I should have left as soon as I saw your white golfing shoes with the tassels.
This isn’t over. I’m a fly to your bug zapper.
We broke up. Stop poking my mom.
Every time I drove you home, I prayed for traffic.
My Times subscription is still in your name. Either you never look at your credit card statement, or you want to stay in my life by providing me with a hard copy of the news.
You are a pop-up ad on the browser of my heart.
In other news, as if this week isn't stressful enough with papers and finals, I find out if I get the assistantship I applied for and if I paper I submitted to a conference is accepted. Basically, by the end of the week I will either be supergradstudent or a complete failure. Hooray!