I think that the early evening is the worst time to try to do work.  I feel too tired to keep thinking but too keyed up to sleep, so I just feel guilty about my lack of productivity.  I really need to get a move on with writing - objectively, I know this - but I just feel trapped in the malaise and the overwhelming amount of thought expected of me ( Read more... )

i ( Read more... )

I called my mom and told her I was drained and having a hard time concentrating on the overwhelming amount of schoolwork (about 25 pages to write, still) I have to do.  Instead of being supportive or even pragmatic, she yelled at me until I started crying and then told me she couldn't understand what I was saying, could I please speak clearer.

The best part about being home is the treadmill.

I always have a very strange relationship with winter, as a season.  For me, it's the warmest season, snug and cozy.  It's hot chocolate, blankets, roaring fireplaces.  And season's greetings and the joy of people rushing around and all of that.  But then, there's a feeling of melancholy that just overwhelms me, filled with dreary isolation and ( Read more... )

Last night, I dreamt that there was a man intimidating me and speaking in a low, gravelly voice, and I woke up screaming.  It turns out that it was my quadmate's bed, scraping against the floor with her movement.

It's funny to think about this time last year.  Last winter I had no idea that I would be sitting in an armchair in the library, drinking coffee at Swarthmore - and decidedly not writing an art history paper.  Beyond the fact that I decidedly wanted to go to Chicago at that point in time, my notion of Swarthmore was hugely different than what it is ( Read more... )

A sign that I might be in college: I'm taking home more dirty clothes than clean ones for Thanksgiving.

Friday was really a strange day.  One minute, I'm having a snowball fight with my philosophy class on Papazian's roof.  The next, somehow, it's three in the morning, and I'm keeping the driver awake as we head through Virginia on an empty highway, with Carry On My Wayward Son playing, on our way to a protest in Georgia ( Read more... )

Cut to about a half hour ago, six-something am.  I'm done snoozing, and I've gotten up to write a response paper for my philosophy class.  I'm pretty groggy because I've never really been a morning person, and it's always hard to leave a warm bed when it's cold outside.  I go to the bathroom, and, as I'm coming back, I look out the common room ( Read more... )