verve

I have been sitting here all night, fighting with the internet, chatting with a poet friend/classmate on facebook, watching Grey's episodes online (when the internet is working)and now it is 11:56, past my bedtime, and I'm not sleepy, but I am tired, and I do have to get up in 5 or 6 hours depending on whether or not I want my hair to look decent tomorrow, but I haven't done any of my homework/grading, and I've figured it's safe to put some of it off until tomorrow night or the next night, but a lot of it (writing a sonnet, revising a poem, reading some Dante) needs to be done by 3pm tomorrow, and minus the time I'll probably spend sleeping, I only have 3 free hours between now and then and usually trying to write in fixed form takes me a really, really long time, and I keep thinking that Anne said I don't have to write the sonnet because I did okay on the sapphics, but it would be good for me anyway, and I'm wondering what's up with this never-ending run-on sentence?

I took my birthday weekend off, officially, but the truth is I've been phoning it in for a couple of weeks. Why? Who knows. Winter doldrums kicking in early? Mid-semester burnout? General laziness? Can't quite put my finger on it. Just know I haven't had much verve lately.

Speaking of verve, Anne also told me my poems have no intensity/focus/urgency. I'm supposed to be revising to find the moment of urgency/intensity/focus that is at the root of each draft. When she said this to me last week, it sounded profound and right and productive and now it just feels heavy and sad and impossible. Oh, she also said I have a small vocabulary. boo.

and now I'm good and depressed and ready for bed. I'll do what I can tomorrow and what doesn't get done will go on the permanent record of things-Sara-didn't-do-well-enough-according-to-her-own-stupid-standards which I think all perfectionists have except I'm a lazy perfectionist and even though I want everything to be perfect I usually don't get there.

self-pity, it's good for my art.

lupanare

Lupanare is the Italian word for brothel. It was used in the poem I translated last night and is, I imagine, one of those words that makes serious translators go a little bit crazy. You see, the root of the word--lupa--means shewolf. And there's just no way to bring that into an English translation. It made me a little bit sad to let it go, but I did use "bordello" because it's more fun to say.

*

I'm getting a slow start this morning because the one most time consuming thing on my to do list--the one I should have started already instead of blogging--is to read Conscripts of Modernity by David Scott. I hear it's a fascinating book. But it doesn't have anything to do with my interests. You think when you sign up for grad school that you will not have to take classes you don't want to take. Not so. Especially at UIC where two classes is a full load and there are typically only 4 grad seminars offered a semester but you have to take 3 workshops, which means you only have 5 other classes to take, and three of them are the core courses everyone takes, which means you get to choose 2 classes OR take more credits than you have to and even then there's no guarantee that you'll take a single class you like. So far, in my 3 semesters here, there's been ONE grad class on poetry and if you're a long time reader, you already know I hated it.

I cannot wait to start reading for my exams. At least then I'm the one picking the topics.

And...rant over.

On another topic entirely

I'm very greedy with my time. That's why I don't want children. Or pets (I've decided, after cat sitting for two weeks, that I'm not ready--and perhaps never will be ready--to have another living being dependent on me).

I know this is counter productive, but I like to know that I have full days--from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed--where I won't have to talk to anyone or leave my apartment. On these days, I feel like I can accomplish anything. But it has to be the whole day. No interruptions.

Which is why I'm writing this. Because I sort of have one of those days, except I should really go for a walk before it gets to be 95 degrees again (okay, so it's really only supposed to get to 85), and since I'm part of the working world, Saturday is the day you're supposed to do laundry, and the peapod guy is coming today because I was going to go grocery shopping yesterday, but the weather was awful so I just went online instead (by the way, it doesn't matter how much canned/frozen food you have if you don't have time to cook).

So. I'm wearing this embarrassing hippie dress that is not at all flattering but is nice and breezy to wear in the summer when my apartment is an inferno/sauna and I don't want to have to change into real world clothes that are required for leaving my apartment. And I don't want to have to try to deal with my amazingly frizzy hair. I just want to be a hermit. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so, or I wouldn't be here venting about it.

On Fitting In

When I was a teenager, and probably even before that, all that mattered in the world was fitting in. I think (no, I know) I've blogged about this before. On the left, you'll see one of my many failed attempts at fitting in. This particular time, I was at a Christian Workcamp--you know, the kind where a bunch of teenagers get into their pastors' vans, drive to some rural, underprivileged area, and slap some paint (or roof tar, in my case) on someone's dilapidated house all day, then come back to the high school they've turned into a bunk house at night for praying, dancing, and flirting (I know, it's a weird combination, but it's true). Anyway, I think I was 15 in this picture, and all the "cool" kids at the time were skaters--I guess to me that meant baggy tee-shirts (which I wore for most of the 90's anyway), baggy jeans (which I borrowed from a boy I had a crush on), and wallet chains (even though I didn't carry a wallet). That whole day, I thought I was so cool, but the second I got home and got this film developed, I realized I looked ridiculous.

Anyway, this is all just supposed to be a metaphor, but I got carried away. This post is actually about who I am in the blogosphere. And lately, I feel like I don't fit in. Maybe that's okay, who knows? But I find myself reading other people's blogs and wondering, "how can my blog be more like this one?" And "Why don't I get as many hits as this blogger?" It's silly, really. My blog is my blog...as in, it is the online representation of ME--not a crafted persona, just an honest, (perhaps too honest) projection of who I am in the real world, all the whining and self-deprecating that my closest friends get to hear on a daily basis put down in print for the whole world to see. If they want to. If they happen to Image search "uvula" or google "18-year-old boys" or any other random phrase that continues to get more hits than anything poetry related does. And if it's real and genuine, why would I change it?

Well, because no one likes a whiner. Because I hate reading through my archives and realizing how often I come here when I'm in a bad mood. And because I recently found out that my students do actually read my blog (I didn't think they'd care enough, but I guess I was being naive) and giggle about it in class the next day. Because at this point, with my first chapbook right around the corner and every day my life as a poet feeling more and more like a career, maybe I should start thinking of this blog as a tool and not just a space to vent and ramble. Some folks have been talking about blog reincarnation, and of course, some folks have been doing it, and I'm wondering if maybe I should join the crowd.

But the fact is, even if I got a new url, I'd most likely slip back into my old habits, because, like I said, this is me. So, I do need to go through the archives and delete things my students don't need to read (and proabably a million other people don't need to read either), but I don't need a new blog. Do I need an attitude adjustment (that sounds so much like my mother) all around? More than likely. A little less whining and a little more curiousity...that's what I need to go for right here and in real life. A new goal, I guess. Here goes...

After chaos

I feel like a three-day-old helium balloon--you know, the kind that still has a little float to it but mostly just hovers over the floor?

I'm done for the semester. I'm done with one academic year of PhD coursework, of living in Chicago, and I. am. exhausted. I could sleep for a week.

There is still so much to do: a manuscript to finish and submit, a poetry syllabus to write and a course packet to develop, a litany of other projects of various importance, and, of course, the inevitable spring/end of the academic year cleaning. 1000 photocopies to separate into Keep, Toss, or Recycle piles. Reorganizing the bookshelves to find homes for the 30-some new books I buy every semester. Laundry and vacuuming and dusting and everything else that just doesn't seem important when you're trying to balance grading with reading with writing papers with being a poet with having friends and blowing off steam.

Yes, I know most of my readers are academics. I'm preaching to the choir. It's just...

It's just that this year was harder. This year, I didn't have any of the usual comforts to fall back on. I couldn't smoke my stress away. I couldn't drive to Mom and Dad's on the weekends for good food and moral support. There were no familiar faces in the hallways, no office doors that were always open with friendly professors waiting inside. This year, every little thing felt new, and hard, and scary. And did I mention I'm exhausted?

I'm trying to put it all together. And hopefully that will happen soon, because I'd like to start enjoying my summer. But right now, I'm feeling kind of hung-over, like I just got done with a 9 month long bender. So, what's the solution? Hair of the dog? Greasy food and good conversation? Take two advil and get back to work? I just can't seem to get moving.

Indulge me, won't you?

As if I don't do this enough, forgive me while I whine a minute.

Someday, before this thing called grad school is over, I will figure out the right balance of working ahead and procrastinating. This semester, I have not done a good job of it.

I started both of my papers over spring break (six weeks ago). I've worked on both papers regularly ever since. At least 2-3 days a week. As a result, I'm not in a panic to generate material but I am completely bogged down in utter boredom with my own thoughts on the topics.

There's only 3(ish) days left until I'll turn both of these papers in, which kind of sounds like torture. Three more days of this? Ugh. I wish I could turn my brain up to turbo and get them both done today. I wish I was done.

Okay. Whine over. Back to it. Thanks for listening. : )

***

And another thing.

Why do you always land on the really interesting idea when it's way too late to do anything about it?

laborious

I may as well be chipping my term papers into stone, it's taking so damn long.

Why is the process of writing something academic so much less rewarding than writing something creative? Even the cover letter I wrote today was more fun than these papers.

There are 11 days left in the first year of my Ph.D. I guess it ain't all bad.

sigh

I woke up with boxing gloves on this morning, ready to fight.

I want to be done with my Ashbery paper, but I've still got 3 pages and alot of revising to do before I can call it quits for the semester. Maybe I can finish it today, but I'm not holding my breath.

It's been well over three months since I smoked my last cigarette, but today, I keep looking around for my camels. Some ex-smokers say they never stop having cravings...today, I understand.

Maybe the problem is that I haven't had any coffee and I've been up for over two hours. Okay. Coffee in hand. Should be better shortly.

On the up-side, there will be poetry and revelry tonight. Hopefully I will be celebrating the end of the semester and not just taking a study break.

Two Steps Behind

I've been in Chicago (more or less) for a month, now, and I just can't seem to get a good rhythm going. I'm constantly rushing to finish my homework on time, constantly tired, constantly disoriented. At least it's constant, right?

I haven't been posting much because I'm trying not to be a whiner. Things are good...I'm just not used to them yet. So, in the spirit of being positive, here's a list of things that aren't stressing me out:

• Having dinner with Brandi last Friday, & realizing I am not the only small town girl who was/is freaked out by living in the city
• Peapod grocery delivery.
• It's fall in Chicago. Rainy yesterday, but today, cool, crisp, and sunny. My favorite weather.
• My poetry workshop. It's different than what I'm used to, and I'm still feeling a little blocked, but I think it's going to be very, very good for me.
• Hanging out at Lil' Joes on Wednesday nights. This is an Ohio-esq bar. PBR on tap, cheap food, no loud music. Just loud, drunk English geeks talking about politics, poetry, and gossip. It's almost like going to Pints!

Well, it's a short list, but it's better than nothing, right? I'm hoping every week, every month, every semester will get easier. They call this semester PhD bootcamp around here. I guess, if I can make it through this, I'll be ready for anything. (Ask me how I feel about that 2 years from now when I'm studying for prelims.)

Now, off to read Lukacs. Fun, fun.

I miss my real life.

The end.

A Post with Substance

Here's the situation, folks. I'm sitting in a hotel room in Jamestown, NY, with two guys who are watching the game/Southpark and giggling like a couple of 12 year olds, and I'm trying to listen to Eva Cassidy on my headphones, but Southpark is louder, and if I turn up the headphones anymore, my eardrums will explode. It's not a bad situation, really, but I'd rather be home. (Oh, and I'm the only girl on this trip except the manager, so I'm rooming with a boy. Oy.)

Today, we hit 71 at 7am, pulled in around 11, and were finished setting up by 2. That means I got my regular daily pay for about 3 hours of work. That's a good thing. The bad thing is I get paid the same regardless of how much I work, and a lot of days, it's 9am to 12am. Sometimes only 10 to 10. I knew what I was getting into, don't get me wrong, but 27 is a lot older than 18 and I sure don't have the energy I did back then.

So this is set up: we put up a tent which is about 10x15, then add 20' worth of overhead signs and 2 six foot wings. We unload the box truck--4 gallon boxes of BBQ sauce, boxes of baked beans that weigh about 20 pounds each, etc. Last week, we had to load the freezer trailer first, which involved taking 80 cases of ribs out of one freezer and putting them into another. What I'm trying to get at here is that this is not the desk jobs I'm used to. I'm whipped. And my legs are covered in bruises. Today I walked into the trailer hitch and have a knot about the size of a softball just above my knee. Tomorrow, it's supposed to be almost 90, and if the humidity today was any indication, I'll probably be melting around 3 p.m. Yay.

So, sometimes a girl just needs to whine, right? I guess I do a lot of that. I'm a little frustrated because everything is happening so quickly and I don't have time to process or deal with most of it. There are little bits of sanity, too, though. Like making dinner last night on the grill and sitting on the porch after. Like finding time while I'm on the road to work on my chapbook and take some notes for reordering the full length ms. Reading a Stephen King novel when I don't want to think. And the people I work with, although not anything like the people in the other parts of my life, are good people. Kind, hardworking people who like to have a good time. I'm trying hard to appreciate what I'm going through--as my mother likes to tell me, it's all about attitude--but I do miss the kind of summer I've gotten used to since starting grad school: three or four hours of reading every morning, afternoons writing, evenings going to class or hanging out with friends. I suppose, in a sense, I'm paying for that now, since the loan money is gone. (Which reminds me, I need to do my FAFSA for the fall!) At any rate, I'm in this thing until labor day weekend, so I guess I better buck up and get used to it.

I feel icky

Everytime I think that, I hear the tune of "I feel pretty." So my song is: I feel icky, I feel icky and shitty and gross." Creative, huh?

I don't know what my deal is. Granted, the St. Patrick's festivities and little sleep that night didn't help, but that was Monday, and it is now Wednesday. Definitely not still hung over. I couldn't sleep last night, was up until 6 a.m., and now, I have tons of stuff to do but feel like I spent the morning in a dumpster.

I'm sorry to be back to whining. But I do have a point.

On days like this, I consider my lifestyle. My pack-a-day habit, my caffeine addiction, my love of salty, crispy, and sweet foods, and my aversion to exercise. If I could change just one of these things, I'd probably feel ten times better. If I changed them all, I'd probably have the energy of a 12-year-old. And I know it's all within my control. I've decided to climb other moutains with much success, but the healthy living mountain has giant "Keep Out" signs all around it. My mom always tells me she doesn't understand why I accomplish everything I say I will accomplish except quitting smoking and taking better care of myself. I don't know either.

The way I prioritize my life, work (grading, class plans, writing) comes first, friends and family second, reading and blogging comes next, watching TV and sleeping after that. Healthy eating and excercise get bumped to the bottom and so when I'm stressed out I smoke and eat chips. Great. See how well that's working.

Jay & Dawson, two of the healthiest people I know, gave me the "just ten minutes a day" speech last week. Actually, Jay has been giving me the "quit whining and do something" speech since about 5 minutes after I met him, but I haven't been taking his advice. Maybe I will reevaluate my priorities. Maybe I will stop whining and do something.

For now, I'm going to go make an omelet and clean my apartment. We'll see what happens after that.

I'm Sorry...

For being such a whiny blogger lately. I go through phases. Right now, I'm in a "This sucks. What's next?" phase and not doing a very good job of being in the moment. Half-assing just about everything from doing the dishes to grading papers. I've been trying to write, but even that is lack-luster--although I did get a new Bisbee poem out on Saturday; better yet, it's a Stella in Bisbee poem, so it can actually go in the manuscript. I've also got 10 pages of the memoir written, but that is such slow work...oy! And really, it's kind of boring. I may not stick with it. I keep saying that, but I'll keep pounding at the keys when I can, and eventually I'll have a first draft. Then comes the fun part--revising.

I'll blame it on the weather, and, as Anne calls it, Daylight Stupid Time. Who wants to get out of bed when it's still dark at 7:30?

Something funny happened today though. A couple of my Tues-Thurs students said they wouldn't be in class on Thursday because of the big game (what big game? I wondered)--one is on the dance team and the other is a basketball fanatic. Anyway, it turns out UA's basketball team is playing in the MAC championships for the first time. And I said, "Oh, that's why Darryl's out all week." He gave me one of those athlete "I'm traveling for the team" letters last week, but I didn't think much of it. So, A., the basketball fanatic, said, "Who's Darryl?" and I said, "the guy who usually sits over there" (pointing). A. gets this funny look on his face and says, "What's his last name?" So, I tell him, and then A. says, "Shut up! You mean D-Rob is in this class?" He goes nuts, like I just told him Lebron James was in the class or something. Apparently, D-Rob (aka Darryl) looks a lot different on the court than quietly sitting in the class...and apparently D-Rob is quite the basketball player. A celebrity, in my class. Who knew?

Last fall, when I went to the UA/KSU football game, I kept looking for former students on the field, but none of them were playing. I guess if I went to the basketball game that wouldn't be the case.

I hope someday he's on ESPN and I can brag about grading his papers.

Whatever

Feeling blah today. Maybe because of the weather: rain, wind, ice. And it's just going to get worse. I'm so ready for spring--and spring break. I need some time to gather my thoughts.

All the programs I applied to claim that they will announce their decisions this week. I hope that's true. I'm very tired of waiting, although my gut tells me that my one yes is my only yes. But then, I am a true pessimist, and things often go better than I expect. I forget who said it, but this is totally me: "The nice thing about pessimism is that you're constantly being proved right or are pleasantly surprised."

*

I can't decide what I should do for work this summer. Here are the options:

1) Call the temp agency, spend my summer like this.

2) Look for a serving or bartending job (which didn't go very well last year)

3) Call the bbq company I worked for the summer after high school and see if they'll take me back.

Traveling for rib cook-offs is both the most and least appealing of the options. On the upside, it's great money, there's tons of interesting people on the rib circuit (like the guy to the left--Butch, not Bobby Flay (not to mention meeting celebrities like Little John and Al Gore)), plenty of down-time for writing and reading (esp. while driving to and from shows), and I'd get to see the midwest from the back seat of a diesel pick-up again. On the down side, I'd smell like a fire pit for 3 months, would have to stand on asphalt for 8-12 hours a day regardless of the weather (95 and humid? fun! 55 and pouring? even better!) and would be pretty much held hostage during the events because everyone has to be there from open to close even when it's not busy. Now, all of this could be pointless if they don't need any more help, but if they do...am I too old for this stuff? I was exhausted all the time when I was 18 and doing it, and now I'm older, in worse shape, and a smoker. Pathetic (not that I'm pathetic, but it's pathetic that I'm making work decisions based on the fact that I'm a lazy ass couch potato). So, what's a girl to do?

It would make for interesting blog posts, though, that's for sure.

Good things come in 3's (bad things come in chunks)

Exciting news here, here, and here. Congrats & good luck to all!

*

I am enjoying my slow Thursday morning a lot. This is the only day of the week that I don't teach before noon. Oh, how I miss my 1:00 starting time of last semester!

*

I feel very busy all the time but get very little done. The PhD waiting. The teaching 3 classes, grading 60 papers/homework assignments, wondering how to get my apathetic students excited. The "okay, now that my thesis is done, what do I do?" The "okay, now that my thesis is done, I need to put it in the mail." Thinking of 12 different projects but doing little more than making notes about any of them. Desperately, desperately wanting to make a plan...but the PhD waiting again. There are two people at UA who have been accepted to their top choices already, and one who's been wait-listed, but all I hear are crickets (and "please leave a message" messages).

*

I am tired of spinning tires, slushy sidewalks, and wet pants. I am tired of runny noses and chapped lips. I need spring, spring, spring!

*

Tomorrow is Jay's birthday. I probably won't blog tomorrow, so Happy Birthday, dude.

Uvula and a mystery poem

The uvula is a body part I don't want to think about. It's supposed to just kinda be there, you know? Unfortunately, whatever little virus I have has decided to attack it. My uvula, that is. We've all heard of tonsilitis, right? Well, uvulitis is pretty much the same thing, and I think I've got it. Something tells me I should go to a doctor. But I'd rather not. Instead...strawberry ice cream for breakfast, baby!

On the upside, I can breathe through my nose again today.

*

No plans for the weekend. And I'm contemplating being really anti-social on new years eve, too. I don't know if even I am recluse enough for that, though.

*

Yesterday, I was going through my word files, getting ready for my LWS (little winter submission), and I found a draft I don't remember writing. And when I read it, I didn't remember what it was about. And it was good. I mean, it needs work, but there were some really cool lines in there, and I don't have any recollection of writing them. That's never happened to me before. Now...how to revise a poem like this? Since I don't remember the impetus to write it to begin with, I could go in any direction. But I'm stumped.

*

Starting to worry about money again. I don't do very well with budgets when I don't have the money in my hands. When I was a waitress, I would come home and divide out my tips: 60% for bills, 20% for food, gas, etc., 10% savings, 10% fun. Even if I only came home with $10, I would split it up. And I always had enough...except when I did my taxes and found out I would have to pay instead of getting a return. Anyhow, these days, with direct deposit and debit cards and online bill payers, I am not so careful. Maybe I need to cancel my direct deposit and start hiding my money under the bed.

*

Is it bad that I'm already getting anxious about my PhD apps? I've been done with them for a week and I'm already dying to know the results. Oy.

Who Needs Sleep?

This should be the national grad-student anthem.



I'm trying to get organized tonight, making sure I know exactly what goes in every PhD app and that I'm sending the right stuff to the right places. Turns out, I forgot to write down the schools I sent GRE scores to, and I'm not going to get the score reports until after the first deadline. I think that means I have to waste $60 resending some that I might have sent already. Also, I just found out that UNL no longer requires GRE scores (not even the general test!), but I did send them reports, so that was a waste too.

Let's face it. I'm starting to panic.

Caution! Venting Zone Ahead!

Sometimes, even people who are detail oriented miss the details.

My thesis is due on Monday. As in, final draft. As in, convert it to a pdf and submit it electronically. As in, my whole committee, the chair of the English department, the Dean of the college of arts and sciences, and the dean of the graduate school have to sign off on it.

I didn't want to have to worry about it over the weekend, so I set myself a goal to finish it today.

I called the Dean's office to make sure he would be in his office today. I dropped the form off at 12. It took until 3 for him to sign it. No big deal, right? I was busy trying to convince Microsoft Word that it is not smarter than I am. Changing page numbers, margins, doing one final proofread.

At 3, the Dean's office calls to say my form is ready. Around that same time, I successfully complete the pdf conversion. Pick up the form, drive to the Polsky building (it's cold, I'm not walking 30 minutes round trip just to drop off some papers). It's now 3:30. I'm in a great mood because I think my thesis will be 100% finished in just a few minutes.

But no, that's just not how life works. I wait for fifteen minutes in the grad school office to hand someone my forms. She takes one look at my signature page and says, "Your margins are wrong. You're going to need a new form."

Great. Just flippin' great. Have I mentioned that I am in a consortial program? That one of my committee members lives in Youngstown and the other lives in Salem (which may as well be Pennsyl-freaking-vania)? Both of these places are at least an hour from Akron. And 45 minutes from each other. I'm instantly thinking, great, I'm going to have to drive around for 3 hours on Monday morning getting these signatures so I don't miss the deadline. I tell the girl with the ruler in her hand that I have a major problem with said ruler. She looks at me like I killed her puppy.

I apologize, say I didn't mean to be rude, it's just, well, I can't easily get these signatures again. No worries, the Monday deadline is just a submission deadline. You don't really have to have everything perfect until the day before commencement. Everyone has to make changes after they turn everything in the first time.

Okay, fine. But if everyone has to make changes, why on Earth do I have to convert it to a pdf first? And if the form has to be so damn perfect, then why don't they generate one for us to use? Seems to me, that would make everyone's lives a whole lot easier. But I'm just a poet, what do I know?

You know what else sucks? Not drinking soda for a whole week. Coffee is not the same. I miss my carbonated sugar.

Oh, yeah, and then I get home and there are 2 rejections in the mailbox. Hello salt, meet wound.

So far... (warning, whiny blog ahead)

So far today, I've:

• studied for the GRE for 2 hours
• walked Rubi
• gone to the grocery store
• made dinner
• made a bunch of annoying but necessary phone calls
• answered my email
• started reading The Visible World for next Monday's class

I think that should be enough for one day, don't you? I mean, I started studying for the GRE at 9, and it's 5. So I put in a full day. But here's where life starts to suck. I looked at the to do list I wrote for myself this morning, and I don't get to cross much off. I'm still supposed to:

• do laundry
• finish commenting on students' rough drafts
• review class plans for tomorrow (The Boss is observing me)
• write poem for Mary's class
• review presentation materials for Mary's class (I'm co-leading a discussion on Corn Shake's Miracle Fruit)
• research PhD programs
• start AWP pedagogy paper

Granted, this list doesn't have to get finished today. I mean, even the stuff that's due tomorrow isn't urgent, since I don't teach until 1p.m. and I have a 3 hour break between teaching and Mary's class. But if I don't keep plowing ahead, I'll start to feel guilty, and when I feel guilty, I get nothing done. I just mope.

Wait, I'm already moping.

P.S. I just looked up mope in the dictionary because it looked weird, and here's what it says: to be gloomy and apathetic. I had no idea how appropriate that word is.

ick

If you're looking for something upbeat, keep moving.

Today is the second day of bomb threats at the U of Akron. Yesterday they determined it was a false alarm, but today, more of the same. I'm trying not to freak out, but after the incident at V-tech last year, I'm a little nervous.

I haven't been feeling great this week. I think it's the usual: not taking good enough care of myself, but I'm having a real hard time getting motivated today. Is it wrong that I just want to go back to bed? Part of the problem is the lack of routine. I got back into the habit of staying up late over the last couple weeks of the summer, and I'm still staying up pretty late, but feeling guilty if I sleep past nine. I don't have to be at school until 1, so I should really give myself a break. It's not like it matters whether I get stuff done in the morning or at 2 a.m.

I ordered some pictures from snapfish. They came ups yesterday while I was at school. The delivery person is probably going to come at the same time today and I won't be here, again. I don't know why I have to sign for it. They're just pictures.

Blah.

(sorry.)