I had typed all this shit here to make another entry, but I realize I didn’t mean any of it anyway. I don’t know what I’m gonna do tonight. Finish my paper, probably. That sucks rocks.
The sister is coming to visit on the 8th and is gonna fly to SLC w/me on the 11th. Kool.
Paper writing is this bizarre art form wherein you can’t ever conceive of the entirety of what you’re doing at any given moment along the way; you always feel as though you’re juggling several burgeoning piles of shit just at the periphery of your consciousness and you intuitively type at a ridiculous pace just trying to get some of it preserved before it all falls into a worthless mess on the floor around you.
Then, when you’re done, you look at what you wrote and say, “That’s not at all what I thought I would write, but it’s sort of in the same vein and I can probably fix it up enough to use it.”
Then you have a shot and you look out the window and wonder.