you're tired of yourself and all of your creations/ won't you come see me, queen jane?
Summer has regressed again from being a social-filled bubbly fun whirlwind to me just sitting around trying to hide from both the neighbours and being selective as to whom and what times I am avaliable. Today I went to the library and fetched not only large amounts of Virgina Woolf and Salman Rushdie, but also a several thousand page book to four-year colleges, as prompted by my parents (who also insist that I sign up for my SAT II(s) now). Apparently my procrastination has been nipped in the bud. Ah well.
(Katy, you may skip the next section. You've already heard it enough.)
I was also informed by my terribly nosy neighbour that since there will be so many of us graduating next year in our neighbourhood that she has decided to have a mass graduation party for all of us--in her house, because she has the tables (which are a short commodity?). It would be me, known as Suzanne, two extremely active young gentlemen of the sports-like persuasion whose friends may or may not spike the punch, the odd, also sports inclined catholic boy from next door, and the southeat cheerleader from two houses down. Thrilling to be sure. I know it won't go through, but the very thought that it was proposed chills me to the bone. If, by some fluke it does go through, everyone is cordially invited to come and act as stoned as humanly possible.
There, a brief synopsis of what is or is not going on.
Tommorrow is the World Cup Final. I need to get myself adopted by a family with a bigscreen television.
(Katy, you may skip the next section. You've already heard it enough.)
I was also informed by my terribly nosy neighbour that since there will be so many of us graduating next year in our neighbourhood that she has decided to have a mass graduation party for all of us--in her house, because she has the tables (which are a short commodity?). It would be me, known as Suzanne, two extremely active young gentlemen of the sports-like persuasion whose friends may or may not spike the punch, the odd, also sports inclined catholic boy from next door, and the southeat cheerleader from two houses down. Thrilling to be sure. I know it won't go through, but the very thought that it was proposed chills me to the bone. If, by some fluke it does go through, everyone is cordially invited to come and act as stoned as humanly possible.
There, a brief synopsis of what is or is not going on.
Tommorrow is the World Cup Final. I need to get myself adopted by a family with a bigscreen television.