Final countdown

Now, before any of you two or three get all huffy, I just thought I would clarify the edits I've made to the blog while I'm procrastinating writing another paper. Why I am writing a paper in July is another story for another day.

I'm ambivalent about maintaining this blog because, well, I haven't really done a very good job of it in the last year or so. The archives are pretty fun, especially the parts before I told my mom about it, but I just seem to have lost the energy to write as regularly. Right now it's sort of a "whenever-I-feel-like-it-or-when-something-is-due" blog, and that's not reliably readable. I do want to write about my travels, though, but maybe that's for another day.

I still reserve the right to begin blogging regularly in the offchance that me publishing that I am considering stopping will subconsciously change my mind.

In any case, "final countdown" still seems to capture the "old" vision of "old lady syndrome," since aren't all old ladies just in their own final countdown, anyway?

At least that's the story I'll stick to when I delete this post and begin regular posting again.

I'd say 'stay tuned,' but I think that's a bit disingenuous.


Big surprise

Wait, the people who had a right to do stuff to their own property won three lawsuits that challenged them?

Who knew justice could be so cruel?!

It would seem the hippies just invested hundreds of thousands of dollars (on their end and the end they're repaying the university) to come to the same conclusion the university made when it decided to cut down some trees in the first place.


American Cultural Reacclimation

A summary of the last 8 hours:

I have been sitting around the house catching up on Kathy Griffin reruns, writing to-do lists and reading junk mail. During commercials I read job listings, wash the dishes and tear out coupons for dish soap at Walgreens.

And I'm not even kidding. All I need now is a husband, two and a half kids and some Valium, and I am the ultimate retro housewife.

Jake is at work, not distracting me with his company, and I should be using this jobless and school-less day to do any number of productive things like finish moving in or my homework. But my dedicated readers (Mom and Christine) should know me well enough to know I would rather pretend I have absolutely nothing to do.


Old habits die hard.

Guess how far I am in a 5-page paper that's due in two and a half hours?


I may have said I was excited to be back in school, even summer school (and it's true!), but that didn't mean I'd stop procrastinating. Sometimes I disgust myself.

Also, I had to cross a stupid picket line to sit here and procrastinate over coffee and bran muffin and Henry James. Whose brilliant idea was it to strike at 6:15am? And why do some of the protestors have to cross the picket lines themselves in order to pee in the same establishment they yelled at me for entering? I could go on for years about how it's just silly to hold labor protests on Bastille Day (also Becca's birthday!), the French independence day, because that seems like an organized effort. Everyone knows the French don't work, and while of course they would also not work on Bastille Day, it is for entirely different reasons than custodial workers here wanting a living wage. Perhaps the symbolism is lost on me.

And now there are news helicopters circling campus and DISTRACTING ME. Not that everything hasn't been distracting me this entire weekend, like trying to sleep past 8am, moving in, or my neighbor's kitchen (which I can hear more clearly from my bedroom than I can my own kitchen).


Oh, Right

I'm back, by the way, to the dollar and my new and exciting apartment and school and work. I guess I like to hit the ground running.

Still contemplating future blogging. We'll see how inspired I feel, and how this double-major-in-one-year plan goes through.