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Ooh, it's all sticky! It's covered in jam!

What a clusterbomb of a day. The best intentions sometimes fail, and sometimes if you're really lucky, both things you attempt fail. On the bright side, I have been waiting for tomorrow for months. Perhaps years. We have tickets to see Eddie Izzard and I am SO EXCITED.

Since I had a houseguest a few weeks ago and she touched it, my shower head has been leaking out of the connector joints. No matter which way I moved it, it still dribbled. I took the entire thing down, tightened all the joints, taped the main one, and tested it and it seemed fine. This morning's shower was very generous. Instead of washing just my hair, I also did all the walls and half the ceiling. The other fix was a complete rookie mistake - the door closed just a little out of whack and without a set of chisels or a dremel on hand, I padded out one of the joints and didn't notice that I had over-adjusted until this morning when the door didn't shut and the shower decided to move its way into the hallway. All that and I hadn't even made it to work yet.
For days I've thought 'I should write in my re-found journal.' This thought is generally followed by such an onslaught of other thoughts that I blink, overwhelmed, and move on to something else. How did I ever focus on one story at a time? There are so many!

Maybe talking only seemed easier in high school and college. To a melodramatic teenager, everything was The End of the World and dramatic or exciting and new and shiny and in need of being explored.

I could talk about my interests. And by talk, I mean shout about All The Feels and post screencaps that encapsulate the glee that words struggled to capture. I remember sharing accomplishments and achievements. I wrote some pieces ten years ago that were horrible and never should have seen the light of day and instead, folks were supportive and the best band of personal cheerleaders a girl ever had. I also remember complaining a lot. I thought life would get easier when we were adults.

In some ways, it just got harder.

I suppose there is a fair trade-off because as you have more joys you have more sorrows, and your successes come with more catastrophic failures.

But ten years ago didn't have wine!

Nov. 26th, 2011

I just popped a lock with a bobbypin. That should happen more often, so long as I am the one doing the opening, and the lock isn't protecting anything of mine.

I'm just embarrassed that it took almost a minute of "Oh dear, I'm wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt and don't have anything in my pockets I can jam in there" to remember that I've worn my hair the same way for almost three years now and I always forget. It's rather similar to how I also lose pens and pencils and spoons up there. I wish those were exaggerations but they are not.

Now, if only I could find the answers to this study I'm doing somewhere in between the curls.

and not a drop to drink

The only thing better than reaching the last slide of my Water and Development powerpoint presentation was looking around in shock as people clapped (and not polite applause and the bookbag shuffle) but - actually clapped - and gathered around the front of the room to ask me questions.

Is this elated, bubbly-feeling how professors and instructors and teachers feel after a really good class? My gut reaction is to wonder, but what did I do to make them crowd around me?, but I think this is just what earning it feels like.

Nov. 3rd, 2011

To my credit, I have been trying for three days to do this assignment.

When I opened it on Tuesday, I stared at it for ten minutes with this shocked-stupid look on my face. And I powered through it, did obscene amounts of calculations for someone who doesn't even balance her own checkbook, and did hours of reading to try and figure out little pieces of it so I could justify calculations I'm pretty sure I botched.

I emailed my professor some questions and never got a response. So, with only hours left until it is due, I just worked through it.

And sure enough, as I'm finishing it, the professor finally emails me back answers. Taking the high road means being glad I can answer more correctly. The low road is a bitter place where I grumble about having to do an assignment I don't understand - twice.

The worst part is that I walked to the lab on the geeky!high of having attended a film/Q&A/lecture that put me solidly in the camp of worshipping (after despising, despairing of, respecting, and hating) the ground my professor-formerly-known-as-crazy walks on.

oh, new england

Day 3 of sitting in study carrel 504I has now been renamed Operation: Stop staring at that Tree.

I should move. But I don't want to. If I have to spend my birthday with my phone off and in the library without dinner (it's okay - I have blond brownies), I should at least have good scenery.

but it is so golden and shiny and glowing and flecked with fiery orange and buttery yellow!

from the desk of

Dear all,

Thank you for your literature reviews. This email is a reminder that you should all read the articles I've posted by your names, and read ahead the next chapter in the book for this week's response paper.

Professor Oops I did it Again


... thanks. Because I didn't have anything to do for the next two hours until it's due. Except I do. Also, remember that time that you walked by me, camped out in the IDCE lounge, and asked if I was coming to the Occupy Worcester march and I blinked owlishly, momentarily having forgotten how human contact functions, and I said I had some crazy professor who assigned inhuman amounts of work?

I actually wasn't joking.

the boilerplate tango

That's three weeks in a row that I had amazing titles for my development theory papers. Let's keep the streak alive.

And it took me until today to notice that doing the research for my water scarcity and allocation presentation is just like that Irish Famine Literature class I took during undergrad: I'm always eating/drinking while I'm reading.

This has more to do with the fact that I'm always working on it rather than making a conscious effort (whereas with the famine class, the reading was easy and we would sit and do it during lunch right before class) to be ironic. But I make notes of numbers and glance up, and there's a water bottle on my desk and usually half a cup of coffee ... and it just seems so ridiculously unfair.

I thought it would be years until I said this again, but I really want to get out of here. Thank goodness the countdown is 10 days.

water as a commodity

Am loving this season of Big Bang Theory. I watch while I eat dinner, and that is my twenty minutes a day I'm not working/commuting/studying.

I'm researching for a project for my econ class. Along with a massive literature review, we have to give an hour-long presentation, for which we are required a power-point that is not more detailed than bullet points, for which we are also not allowed to use notes.

I'd complain about how I was stuck (by the professor!) with half the entire thing ... but I can't speak for half an hour in front of anyone - let alone a full lecture hall - if I don't do a majority of the reading. So, there's that.

grad school should be its own tag

I think I'm actually starting to crack from the pressure of having more work to do than is physically possible in a week. How do people do this?

More importantly: how do I do twelve more weeks of this?

Also: Dear cold/virus/bug thing,

Seriously, go away. It's enough that I have to read everything the first time - seeing double isn't helping. Do you think Professor CrazyPants will take 4 written pages on nose-blowing techniques instead of urban migration analysis?

No love,
me
Screw the antagonists, the obstacles, the critics; the people in your way. Be crazy, be insane, be completely bonkers, but do it because you want to. Shock the world, take away its collective breath, and stun everyone into silence. And may they all applaud.

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