(no subject)

Hung out with John last night, three weeks after the initial invitation to do so. We had a couple glasses of wine and drew a picture, which is now on my wall. We ate biscochitos and we listened to "Stormy Weather," since he'd said he'd never heard the song. We took the shortcut to my house, which I don't usually do after dark, but then I'm usually walking alone.

Today when I was on my way out the door as my housemates were coming in from having a cigarette, Nadia said, "So did you have fun last night? I heard giggling," with something of a mischievous grin. We must have been laughing at my lack of drawing skill.

It's kind of funny how the volume of my speaking voice varies. I used to be very soft-spoken, such that people were always admonishing me to speak up. I learned to do so, and now it wouldn't surprise me if there are friends of mine who might think of me as somewhat loud. (Especially if I'm quite drunk...) But when I go back home and talk with my family, that soft-spokenness comes back, not because I want it to, but more out of a sense of needing to hide. In those circumstances, it feels unnatural. But with some people, such as those who are also quiet, my soft-spokenness comes back and seems right.

(no subject)

Dispatched an e-mail to my genetics prof about the take home exam and what my plans are. Well, the first step. Now obsessively checking for a reply to see if I've already gone astray before proceeding much further.

I'm going to drive myself crazy with all this work, but that's also one reason I love being here.

Fuck!

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. On a fucking stick.

One day I'll look back on this and wonder what was so bad. Or not.

I'm tired of waiting for someone to save my stupid ass. But I don't know what to do, either.
Waiting for e-mails that don't come is another pull on the rack. There's still time, but it doesn't seem like it. The early darkness makes it seem like doom is coming before it is time.

Not that there will be sleep for me tonight anyway. Tomorrow I can surrender myself to a sleep like that of the dead.

I can do this. Reed doesn't give a person more than she can handle. It's only by my own idiocy that I get into such dire academic situation. But it's a handicap I've been dealing with for 21 years. I can handle it. Somehow I will get through. And I will see another 24 hours. Every single moment of them. Awake. Madness.

It is on disaster that good fortune perches,
It is beneath good fortune that disaster crouches.

(no subject)

After destressing vibes from Katrina, a Vanilla Coke, a conversation with Anna whom I haven't talked to in a heckafreakin long time, and returning to my library desk to find that the article I needed magically appeared in my absence, I am calmer and better prepared to work.

T minus 10 hours until DOOM.