the whores hustle and the hustlers whore
So, I am still alive. If you want to call it that. College is a wonderful thing, but I often feel like there's not time to construct a life: instead, it's a feeling rather like when you trip, and begin to fall headlong-- if you run, you might keep your feet just a little longer, but that pavement is gonna meet your face in quite a serious way, and there's not a lot you can do about it. Instead, life is little snatched moments between the string of things pressing for attention... this morning, sitting in a tiny patch of wood and smelling burning pine-needles, for instance.
Things left to do this evening: study for a test, clean my room, do some laundry, do rather a lot of dishes, call home, update the listserve and maybe even write a case study and work on a paper (I really should).
My education will be the death of me, truly.
Things left to do this evening: study for a test, clean my room, do some laundry, do rather a lot of dishes, call home, update the listserve and maybe even write a case study and work on a paper (I really should).
My education will be the death of me, truly.