I don't know, it's just going to be glorious to get away. I have a lot of imaginary scrutiny to escape. I'll spend six weeks curled up at the store with a book, watching traffic through the big windows, and mostly, not making mistakes left right and center.

Home, home, home.

Oops. That coulda been done better.

The sunset behind campus, the echo off the Rec, Frisbee and PBR and the guys and a twisted ankle. A dark, hushed, hot shower and a sweaty, sleepy night, and all morning dragging sticks in the arb. Stravinsky, Schuman, Schubert, Strauss. Betelgeuse. One hour of biohazard dishes, chapped hands, the Poisonwood Bible, green pen, Annie's, aaaaand ... ( Read more... )

God damnit, I always do the exact wrong thing.

Really though? I mean I did NOT see that comming at ALL.

HELL YES.

Oh. Sure. NOW he comes into the store. Now, three days from me leaving forever and ever, when I'm wearing an old stained t-shirt and my hair is going six ways to Sunday. He chose today to swing open the door and stroll casually through it, just to strike up a conversation and see how I've been. And it was one of those things where I had twenty ( Read more... )

1) Connect Four at Mars Cafe. In one extraordinary move, Tatge opened up three distinct possibilities for victory. I've never seen anything like it ( Read more... )

What a bitch. What a raging, ugly, mean-spirited bitch.

Home from frisbee, took a shower and a deep breath and dove into the amazing mess that had claimed my room. Now the floor's clear but it's too late to vacuum and the laundry is only half done in the basement, and I'm antsy because I hate getting in These Moods and then not finishing them off ( Read more... )