Welcome To My Bed

Lazy unseasonably warm Sunday.

The weekends last so much longer here than the actual week. I feel as though I haven't been to class since last Monday (even though that is a bigger lie than saying I saw any respectable hour of today's morning). The days keep spilling into one another, which is probably symptomatic of the amount of writing (read: editing) I've been doing. If this is how much I get done while still taking a more-than-full course load, I'm not quite sure what exorbitant ridiculousness I'll manage once we are fully into December. Oh, Thesis Project, be afraid! Be very afraid!

Besides seeing George Watsky perform on campus, followed by a basement black light party, I spent last night sober and incredibly exhausted. Today I slept late and decided to do some housekeeping. I shifted my furniture around, grouped drafts for revision, made a burrito, took out the recycling, blah blah blah blah. Also, I picked up a book of poetry for a short breather.

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I don't spend nearly enough time with all the bushy-bearded old men on my bookshelf. Virginia has scared them all into a corner by talking to her sparrows in Greek.

I'm taking a little road trip to New Jersey this weekend to trap the magic of these crazy-long weekends and harness their power-- I have a chapbook to pull together, a retrospective essay to write, and maybe twenty or thirty books to plow through for that pesky final paper (the last of its kind before we plunge headlong into Creative Writing Land). Everyone keeps asking me about graduate school. IDON'TWANTTOTALKABOUTEDUCATIONTHANKYOU. I am already overwhelmed enough by this leg of college, let's not jump the gun. I need to wait tables all night and write all day for at least three years solid before I think about subjecting myself to further lecture hall torture sessions.