Still hadn’t turned my calendars over from April. New shot of Marilyn on one calendar, and a nice boat scene on another. There are four calendars and four clocks (one of them is done with blue neon light tubing) where I sleep. I am obsessed by time. I always have been. I can sit for hours and watch seconds pass… it’s fascinating, oppressive, wondrous, surreal and mundane all at once.
But anyway… my last semester has started. First three classes today were Mesoamerican archaeology, Paleoanthropology, and a course on Evolution and Disease, kind of like socio-historical epedemiology. An ethnographic course on women in the Middle East starts Wednesday. There are going to be a hell of a lot of notes to take this semester. On the upside, I get to mess about with actual human remains. Ought to be fun.
I’m looking at work. Probably I’ll just do some menial part-time stuff on campus so that I can operate around my classes and still be able to focus most of my time on studying. Real-estate sounds interesting as well. Knowing how members of my family made out in real estate (can you say “$$” five times fast?), that’s tempting as well, though I’m not really clear on the amount of study that’s actually required to do it.
I may also consider actually writing another book. I know, I know, I was telling everybody that I wasn’t going to do that. But this won’t be a tech book — it’ll be a rework of the first book I wrote on avoiding high school and coming out with a nice diploma anyway. Now that I know the publishing industry better and have contacts on the inside, it might be a viable project. I could call it “Beat the System: How to Get Credit for Cutting Class” or something like that. Ought to make the teachers’ unions happy.
My car is making noises still and the windshield has a nice, growing network of cracks in it thanks to three consecutive rocks from our lovely ongoing construction zone here in Salt Lake City. Soon as I get some viable cash going on again, I’ll have the car looked at. I’d like to get it into proper shape to drive to Los Angeles in September.
Only this time I won’t try to do over 100 up that long hill on the far side of Death Valley. A year and a half later I’m less stupid. Theoretically.