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so it’s that end of semester, register for classes time everyone loves so much. i went to my advisor, who told me that somehow i only need 12 classes to graduate, but! 58 credits. how this is possible, i’m not so sure. my frustration at paying for a year of classes that are all going to be electives is immeasurable. also, of the 12 classes 5 are gen-eds because i thought i was being clever and productive by taking the difficult classes—like astronomy—that double for two spots. wrong-o. now i just have to take twice as many classes.
similarly, the only english classes i have left are a series brit lit to 1880, shakespeare, and criticism. i took the fun ones first. woopsies.
then to top it all off i went to register today and 2 of the classes i want to take are full, no matter that they are required for the major or anything. no biggie.
and and anddd, i get to be in debt for years for all this worthwhile, fulfulling education! holllaaa
this is the first evening i have had entirely to myself in WEEKS. i am holing myself up in my room with broccoli, beer, and blackberries, and i don’t care that those things don’t go together. i am all at once trying to live freely and not kill myself from overdosage of deviled eggs and peanut butter eggs and fit into a cute bathing suit come pool months.
it is rainy, and i did not have to work, and i can sing bon iver real loud. this is an awesome day.
of all the things i should be doing right now, drinking a giant mug of coffee at almost 10 is not one of them. similarly, whatever.
lately i have noticed particularly that men are always looking at women, or writing about women, and thinking about women. sans gay ones. i’m in a creative writing class, and every story except the exceptionally funny kids has been about women with black hair and blue eyes. i know that this is regarded as common, or normal, and it’s all over women’s magazines that men think like this, but i feel like i am experiencing it so much more now. i kinda hate it. when i look at a man, i do not examine how he would be in bed based on the length of his legs or constitution of his torso. maybe i am abnormal in this way, and have much development ahead of me. i saw a man stop on the stairs and stare at another women walking down the stairs. not her face. it’s a one-track obsession that seems to blanket across most males i encouter on a daily basis, and it’s startling and starting to distress me.
i have skipped two classes to read david foster wallace essays this week, and i am just thinking a lot.
earlier i started to take a gratuitious picture of myself drinking said coffee from said smiley mug, but gave up for fear of spilling, but think about it non-pervy people. k?
so it’s warm again which means i’ve been running. and also reading more than internetting. always an accomplishment i feel. but this running, ohmygod, i feel like with every inch of pavement i cover, i distincly remember every blue moon, every sugar-loaded jack and coke, every pokey stick, and every camel no. 9 in the pink box. holy. shit. my body. ow.
so now, it’s time to trade it all in for green tea and edamame, chick pea burgers, and running all afternoon, then literature and the final month of this astronomy class at night.