In the process of conducting an all-out search for the floor of my bedroom, I have managed to smash that oh-so-tender portion of my elbow into: the corner of my desk, the sliding door on my closet, and one very stubborn little bookshelf.
On top of that, each time I catch a glimpse of the white carpet peering through the rubble, hope quickly dashes itself against more boxes, more paperwork, and a suspicious amount of accumulating black, pink, and blue yarn ...
I’ve put my I-tunes on the 'Ultimate Shuffle' and have been sifting through the chaos, listening to everything from Jefferson Airplane, to Backstreet Boys, to Foo Fighters, to Damien Rice, to Rockapella.
Does anyone know why there is a child crying in the background of Aaliyah’s entire “Are you that Somebody”?
Other than confronting my room—which is currently, as you may have guessed, congested with four years’ worth of dorm room junk—I am preparing for my “dive” into the wild. Which, as I have previously mentioned, will consist of creative writing, Ramen Noodles, and burial in a couple feet of snow.
The things we do to get into grad school.
Departure for Hume Lake is scheduled for December 30th, and I’ll be there—stranded—until someone decides to drive back up and get me, around the end of January. Before then, I have to get all my recommendation letter paperwork sent out, order transcripts, organize a lifetime of short-stories and poetry, and decide how I’m going to feed myself for a month with no grocery store.
Whee.
Meanwhile, my elbow is still buzzing. And I’m suffering a debilitating amount of vision loss from my left eye, due to a lingering infection we thought was pink eye; however, as it has extended itself over a week’s duration, it threatens something else. Not sure what, yet: but each blink is—ominous.
My I-tunes has shuffled itself into a recording of chanting Benedictine Monks. I skipped the song and it flipped to “Playas Gon’ Play” by 3LW.
That about sums it up.
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