The wee hours.
I’m sitting in the study room of a residence hall that isn’t my residence hall working on chemistry. Chemistry has been my entire world for the past nine hours. My final is tomorrow at 7 PM. I’m looking forward to a four-hour nap after breakfast, which will be at 7. Oh, how I wish that the dining halls opened just a half hour earlier. I need food. I am SO hungry. For protein. Not these oatmeal-raisin-pecan cookies and Stride gum that I’ve been snacking on. Bacon. Yes, bacon sounds good. I need to memorize these solubility rules; I’ve typed them out with the proper superscripts and subscripts in blue and green and red and gold in Courier font, so that’s a start. I can’t process any more chemistry right now, so I’m taking a break.
I’m going home Thursday afternoon. Actually, not after noon. At noon. I have no idea how I’m going to get all of my crap into boxes and into our truck. I haven’t even started LOOKING at my closet because every time I open my closet door, panties and other embarrassing things fall out. I suspect that there’s a family of boogie men living in there. In my dirty laundry. Yuck, that’s kind of a gross thought.
I’m listening to Joe Hisaishi. I love this man. Tom Waits -> Josh Groban -> Joe Hisaishi. How does one get there? I don’t think that’s a proper sequence of male musicians/composers. Gosh, you know who I don’t like? John Mayer. What a d-bag. Really!
I hear a train.
"Church! Priest! Tabernacle!"
"Step Yo Game Up" by Snoop Dogg (feat. Lil Jon and Trina)
Stephen: Hey, Jon, great to see you, pal! How was your Easter?
Jon: Uhhh…not happened. Non-existent.
Stephen: Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You people celebrate that festival of crackers.
- The Toss, 4/8/10
Nice truck, sorry about your penis.
measing your own grave
By Marlene Dumas; lovely
You just made a mistake. I’m sure you’ll realize that soon enough (one can only hope), but I feel like I need to tell you that. You are a terribly, painfully insecure girl. It’s clear that you’re uncomfortable in your relationship, at ease only when you and your man are alone, safe from outside opinions, women, and temptations. It is clear to everyone why you’re dating him. He represents what your family represents: instability, childish little dramas, and an unsophisticated, joke of a person that you can feel superior to. You, a girl that I developed a great deal of respect for because of your strength and humor and niche-defying personality, are being treated with blatant disrespect by this boy that you choose to be so devoted to; a boy who I’d like to think is beneath you.
And this is my effort to express my thoughts in a healthy way and not to get involved in this shit.
For my best friend, lover of all things Lil Wayne, Virginia Woolf, and Michael Kors. C: