This is may be the 70 millionth night in a row that I have stayed up until at least 3 o'clock in the A.M., doing whatever it is that I do.
I'm nearly finished with the semster (one more paper due, about the fascinating grammatical tool we grammarians like to call asyndeton. Sound smoooooooth, doesn't it?). I feel a little (ok, a lot) like my mind is going to explode. I'm in a sort of purgatory right now, wherein I've turned everything in but I still don't know if I'll get a 4.0 this semester.
You scoff, Scoffer, but this is a big deal for me. I was ranked like, 69th in a high school graduating class of 73 people, so the potential to get Summa Cum Laude pretty much gets me high. Yes, I realize I have another full year, and that one B will not be the end, sum, and judgement of my life's achievements, but I want to pay for grad school about as much as I want Pat Robertson lodged in my eye. (By the by, Pat Robertson's real name is Marion, just like John Wayne.)
Anyhoo, I've got a horrible case of homesickness and I'm ready for school to be over and for Tim to get a good job so that we can figure out his hours and schedule a trip home. Colorado, in all its resplendent glory, will have to wait.
Write a paper, win a prize.
I find out in approximately one hour if I can get a tattoo on my foot, or if the man is going to keep me down once again. Damn the man. I don't want another one on my back. We'll be calling you this evening after I'm done being a slave to the corporate world and Mr. Short Hair finishes another final exam.
ReplyDeleteso, hippie person, do you really have room for the-man on your back? Hmmm...
ReplyDeleteAh, Colorado, once you're here, you don't miss it.
Good luck Kiddo!