I cooked myself a real dinner with lots of plates dirty and lots of protein in it and hopefully iron too (my mother's theory is that I am very stressed out at least partially because I am iron-deficient) and I have a crate of clementines of which I have just eaten two and I sat on the couch with Megan and emailed my sister and suddenly my stupid ( Read more... )

I like that I don't smoke cigarettes when I'm stressed anymore; I dislike that coffee gives me stomachgrowls; I dislike the fluorescent lighting of the library but love the chair I have found for working, on the New Pit balcony with a swivelly computer shelf (I have just remembered that it is where Maggie used to write her thesis, and look how well ( Read more... )

Rains. Pours. (Drizzles like choking.)

Contact rubs my back with familiar ease, bumps my foot sweet and new, knifes my gut.

If I could form a coherent sentence, do you know what I'd be doing? (Yes, you do, and I don't want to say it.)

Don’t ever get bleach in your eye.

More gorgeous Galliano fat ladies!

Love! LOVE.

I have big cup of coffee and big blue lit theory book.
I have learned that an enduring characteristic of me is that I always say "bless you!," even when I am not supposed to talk.
I want to go to sleep.

I turned in eight thesis pages (eight! thesis! pages!) and then, wandering around in a haze of having turned in eight thesis pages, I sat down at a library computer and purchased for myself a gorgeous pair of boots that are either a thesis-related reward or an early birthday present or both. So...I guess I'm not getting a tattoo for my birthday, ( Read more... )

( Specific thesis discussion cut for the disinterested )

Patches and scraps and notes of thesis constitute two and a half pages. And an entire day's worth of work.

Ten pages before fall break, I somehow agreed to in the course of yesterday's thesis meeting. I wrote my first paragraph yesterday. Utter crap. I don't care ( Read more... )