Oh my god, it’s already the eighth week of the quarter; near the end of it, actually. There are only two more weeks of class and then a meager assortment of final exams.

I have barely more than nothing to show for it.

That may be unfair because in the next two weeks I have a small number of very large and impressive projects to complete. I desperately want to start putting together a portfolio to try to at least convince myself that I’m a hirable proto-professional, or maybe to convince myself that I haven’t been sitting on my hands for the past three months. Maybe I have.

Today I’ve set some goals: to get some real food from the farmer’s market, go through some miserable paperwork, and bake delicious cookies for the bake sale. Tomorrow will be dominated by the sale and class, which is a lot of fun, but will leave me with no free time at all. At least there’s a gallery opening!

I feel that I thrive with a full, busy schedule. Lately I’ve thought about my freshman year of college, when I lived in the residence hall, ate at the dining hall, was a ten-minute walk from class, had a full closet of warm clothes that fit perfectly, sixty instant friends, easy classes that I had no emotional investment in, no money and no need for money. My life was so ridiculously comfortable and easy, and since that time I have done nothing but complicate it. I would hate myself if I didn’t. You could say that I gain nourishment from shit storms. I wish my life was harder, that my work was challenging, that I had more complicated relationships, that I had more school work to show off. It was kind of nice getting fat and complacent, though.


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