addiction

A glimpse into what used to be my life. Me the Student ... Could I do it again? I was starting to think I could not function on as little sleep as I did then, but being at work by 6.10 a.m. two consecutive mornings makes me remember and crave those freaky adrenaline rushes. I miss carrying twenty-five pounds of texts and notes up a steep hill twice a week.

3/12/03

Day ... what the hell day is it. Who cares. Oh, Day 8. Yesterday, Day 7, I made broccoli soup (by the way, when a recipe calls for heavy cream, fat-free half-and-half is not an acceptable substitute.) I bought it because i wondered what the heck such a thing could possibly taste like. Well, now I know: kind of like skim milk. The soup still came out okay even though I don't have a food processor and you're supposed to puree the broccoli and vegetable stock before adding the cream.

I never have to share my food anymore. It's great.

During our break from class we jumped in Caryn's little car and drove across the street to St. Louis Drive-In. Ever notice how overpriced grilled cheese sandwiches are no matter where you go?

I came home and got straight to work ... downloading Alan Jackson songs, and kind of thinking to myself, am I going to make it? My brain is so tired. I've heard that it doesn't get any worse than this, but that's not going to matter if I don't make it through this one thing. I've always been sure in the past that I could somehow turn the game over, so to speak, and come out on top. My mind is tired, my body is tired, I'm bored and overwhelmed at the same time. So I fire up kazaa and try to find the most honkytonk stuff there is so I'll be in a livelier mood when I open my ten-pound portfolio.

Today I woke up with this thought: of course the game gets turned over. Just ... with how much pain?

The neighbors are remodeling their kitchen. The workers talk about some interesting stuff when they're in the garage eating their lunch or cutting cabinet material. Yesterday they talked about their kids, and then they started talking about Iraq, then they talked about the history of suffrage in the United States and they all agreed, well all three of them, agreed that only enlisted military should have the right to vote. Then they put on an opera CD, which somehow went great with the pounding of nails and screeching of the mitre saw. When I go out on that side of the house, I can always smell what I assume to be vanilla pudding.

E's B packed me a pasta lunch today. So far as I could tell it was an olive oil/sun-dried tomato sauce. And wagon wheel pasta, which is so much fun. I had to take it home, though, so I could help my mom out in the yard. I fed Bentley one of the olives from my pasta (something deluxe this time, not the canned black kind I am so partial to). He worked on that for awhile (sometimes he eats things he's not crazy about because sometimes it just doesn't occur to him to refuse a bit of food, even if it tastes weird.)

It. Is. Time. To. Work.
It. Is. Time.
It. Is.