There's that pervasive sort of tiredness

that you can almost feel leaking into your bones. I'm not feeling it now, so I have to say that any attempt at describing it right now would not reach the level I would want it to reach. So I'll just throw it out there for now. There is that pervasive sort of tiredness.

I am happy that I have more time left, but I wish that I had more. I do not want to die. I would like to have enough time to do everything I wanted, and to do it without feeling that I'm doing it just so I can cross it off of some transcendental to-do list. I want to live and experience without constantly feeling that I'm doing it so that I can say that I am living and experiencing.

I am not dead

yet.

When you get an order

at 1 a.m. that's due at 8 a.m. and you haven't packed yet, you know you're in for a good night. :)

Not to mention the art hum paper that hasn't written itself like I thought it would, or the Italian presentation that hasn't even started invading my consciousness yet.

My customer's name is People222 apparently. I hate People222.

I will get back to your query just ever so shortly. If I didn't have this pile of junk sitting in front of me, I'd do it right now. But I'll do it.

And I still need to figure out exactly which books I'm bringing back with me... (AGH! Just remembered that I was going to pick up my copy of Grapes of Wrath from my dad's house - and I was there tonight! Dammit!) Thinking about my Faulkner anthology. Thinking about others. I just want to bring them all, even though I know I won't read them. Maybe though. I like for them to be around, always just in case.

Short pants

are glorious. And nice weather certainly makes me more libidinous.

I wrote a version of chapter one. It's not what I wanted it to be, but I am not defeated yet. There is time yet.

Still need to make the chapter outlines. I have no idea how many chapters I will end up having. Nervous about the whole project. Filled with doubt.

Haven't done any "work." Also haven't contacted stepmother. Dreading.....

Behold my glorious words!

Johnny Cash said it

I'm going to Jackson (end quote), where the current temperature is 65 F and the high is a crazy 77!

Still packing...whoops. (or not, I suppose)

I'm bringing some books that I've ruled out having the time to read so they can find room on the shelves at home, but I've also realized that I've got to return with a few as well - books that I've realized I can't properly function without.

I really like that sort of thrill.

I will write chapter one over break, so I will let you, dear blog o'mine, know how that goes.

One more

man.

Just a few more

of these days, and then home for a bit of sun and rest. It seems that the weather is going to be pleasant on arrival - high of 76, low of 60. Unheard of temperatures for this poor southern chap hibernating in the still blustery north. Today has been relatively nice, though. There was a particularly bright sun this morning literally bursting through the slats in my blinds, and while I stood watching children with swords do their strange dance around a makeshift star, I could feel the warmth of the sun on my cheek. Spring is coming, yes?

Well, I can't believe that I've got class in 20 minutes. And with the Barnard construction still going on, the necessity of navigating the winding and thin tunnels makes the trek quite long and annoying.

Then work.

Then work.