At half past two in the morning, I haven’t had a drop of drink; I’m sitting in the basement by angry vending machines with a stack of unstapled paper (I broke my stapler in a fit of productivity) and people are coming past me in their underwear to buy pretzels and soda.
I’m tired enough and saturated enough that I don’t understand anything in print just now, including this. Baba Yaga wants your sexy pants.
I haven’t kept up on email. I haven’t kept up on work. I haven’t kept up on family and friends. I haven’t kept up. This quarter has taken too much. Too much.
She asked me not too long ago why I came to graduate school. I don’t know why. Same reason I do everything: I’m always hoping it will be better than the last thing, which I didn’t like very much. It never is.
There aren’t just two kinds of people in the world, glass half empty, glass half full, blah, blah. There’s also a third: it doesn’t matter whether it’s half empty or half full because it’s probably methyl alcohol rather than water, meaning that if you drink it, you’ll go blind and maybe die, but of course there’s only one way to find out and if you stay in this desert heat any longer without a drink, you’re gonna die anyway.
Sometimes I think this third kind is me.
But I’m not unhappy. I’m in a pretty good mood the last few days. I have been lucky in Chicago, in spite of my confusion about life. And in another few days, I’ll be on the road. God, it’s been a long time. I wonder if I can even remember how to drive. Maybe I’ll just run into things and hurt myself.
Perhaps more importantly, it’ll give us a chance to drink together, hike together, and play with legos together.
I have to go to bed. I have to get up early and start work on another mammoth paper.
I saw Victoria today and she gave me all kinds of encouragement to take an incomplete and finish up my papers when I’ve got more time next quarter, with the research hours and all. I dunno.
I really miss twenty-four hour convenience stores and the ability to sneak over late and buy a brew or something. The only thing here are these damn vending machines and these idiots who keep turning up in their underwear. I feel so overdressed.
And sitting here with stacks of paper and a laptop, too!
Everyone keeps reading my shirt.
It’s been a long day.