This is what paper writing is all about for me, writing diaryland entries instead of my paper.
I'm glad I get a week to dance with the Sara(h)s, run into the fridgid water, and get called Wecklels...I don't know that he recognizes the irony in the nickname.
I need to survive four papers in one week, (I think I've only ever written a ten page paper once before. This is an adventure, to be sure) a few weeks of exams, and the horror that I'm almost not a first year anymore.
As much as I'll like my room to myself this summer, I think some night's I'll wake up and wich I could look over at Mansha. Roommates can be reassuring things. I can't think about this ending, it's too horrific, too sad.
As is so often the case, this entry ended up being about nothing I set out to make it about. For the best? We shall see. Is it wierd that a memory of one November evening just flashed into my mind? I am driving by, and I almost wave. Huh. I wonder why that one?I like to flatter myself by beliving that my brain operates like a work of literature, dropping obscure hints to help illuminate a deeper undercurrent.