not dead yet
I watched Hustle and Flow yesterday after 3 6 mafia won their oscar. It was quite good.
I spent the weekend slaving over an econometrics program, and I'm typing this while I take a break from reading "Contemporary France: A Democratic Education"
I'm on page 2. of 300.
Its fine though, this is how finals works. I worked all day (kind of), took a break to see Of Montreal (fucking incredible)
I guess nothing and everything changes.
I still think I'm terrified of the same things in the future, except I don't see why I should allow myself to get bummed about a pessimistic and relatively uneducated paranoia/insecurity-motivated guess.
Besides, I have no fucking clue what I want to do with my life, I have less of a clue every day, so who knows whats going to happen.
Maybe I'll be a political economist. It's not really a career, but it has a nice ring to it. Its just a meaningless phrase.
I like her, I think she likes me, and she likes gin, and I like gin, and neither of us are especially keen on the idea of relationship. Well, perhaps not. More importantly, neither of us are keen on the idea of talking about it. Which is good. Because expectations are, well, unnecessary. If things go in a good direction (and that could be relationship but honestly I think quasirelationshipsortof is a better direction) then hey, well thats fucking great. If not, there's a let down. If you don't have expectations, you're never disappointed.
Of course, thats all a lot of bullshit because we'd never know how to behave the next second without expectations, and so what that really means is that I advocate low expectations, which I don't advocate because low expectations are bad for your ego, and a little bit of ego is a good thing, and during finals a little more ego is nice to help soften the blow of well, oh my god do I have work to do.
I had to use up all the money on my mealplan, so I bought evian, and when I changed Liquor's (my goldfish who lives in a handle of Bombay Sapphire) water today, I poured the evian in.
Liquor seems to like it and god knows I'll never drink the shit.
I can't afford conspicuous consumption, but I can let my fish have his bling and whatnot, so thats fine.
I'm not sure if I'll leave right after finals, or a few days or a week later, and I'm not sure what I'm doing when I go home for springbreak.
I should go back to reading but what I really want to do is drive across Utah again. I want to drive further than my gas tank looks like it will let me with no gas station in sight, through alien moonscapes in the shape of mountains, with ridges and spines that wind and drop and look like geological monoliths but are really the height of telephone poles.
It's impossible to hang out with a girl from the local highschool without people thinking you're a complete sketchball. I am no sketchball. Next time she comes on campus, Janet has to introduce her to people, that way the whole, we are all friends and I am not predatory thing is abundantly clear. Besides, highschool shmighschool. I think I'm only a few months older than most high school seniors.
Oh this is terrible rambling. Who stole all my poetry?
Economics, thats who.
Its unsoulful.
I spent the weekend slaving over an econometrics program, and I'm typing this while I take a break from reading "Contemporary France: A Democratic Education"
I'm on page 2. of 300.
Its fine though, this is how finals works. I worked all day (kind of), took a break to see Of Montreal (fucking incredible)
I guess nothing and everything changes.
I still think I'm terrified of the same things in the future, except I don't see why I should allow myself to get bummed about a pessimistic and relatively uneducated paranoia/insecurity-motivated guess.
Besides, I have no fucking clue what I want to do with my life, I have less of a clue every day, so who knows whats going to happen.
Maybe I'll be a political economist. It's not really a career, but it has a nice ring to it. Its just a meaningless phrase.
I like her, I think she likes me, and she likes gin, and I like gin, and neither of us are especially keen on the idea of relationship. Well, perhaps not. More importantly, neither of us are keen on the idea of talking about it. Which is good. Because expectations are, well, unnecessary. If things go in a good direction (and that could be relationship but honestly I think quasirelationshipsortof is a better direction) then hey, well thats fucking great. If not, there's a let down. If you don't have expectations, you're never disappointed.
Of course, thats all a lot of bullshit because we'd never know how to behave the next second without expectations, and so what that really means is that I advocate low expectations, which I don't advocate because low expectations are bad for your ego, and a little bit of ego is a good thing, and during finals a little more ego is nice to help soften the blow of well, oh my god do I have work to do.
I had to use up all the money on my mealplan, so I bought evian, and when I changed Liquor's (my goldfish who lives in a handle of Bombay Sapphire) water today, I poured the evian in.
Liquor seems to like it and god knows I'll never drink the shit.
I can't afford conspicuous consumption, but I can let my fish have his bling and whatnot, so thats fine.
I'm not sure if I'll leave right after finals, or a few days or a week later, and I'm not sure what I'm doing when I go home for springbreak.
I should go back to reading but what I really want to do is drive across Utah again. I want to drive further than my gas tank looks like it will let me with no gas station in sight, through alien moonscapes in the shape of mountains, with ridges and spines that wind and drop and look like geological monoliths but are really the height of telephone poles.
It's impossible to hang out with a girl from the local highschool without people thinking you're a complete sketchball. I am no sketchball. Next time she comes on campus, Janet has to introduce her to people, that way the whole, we are all friends and I am not predatory thing is abundantly clear. Besides, highschool shmighschool. I think I'm only a few months older than most high school seniors.
Oh this is terrible rambling. Who stole all my poetry?
Economics, thats who.
Its unsoulful.