Ahhh...grad school

It's officially sucked the life out of me. Maybe it's the idea of having to read 200!! late 1800s short stories by next Monday, or the thought that I put Les Miserables on my morning reading list, thinking Oh, plenty of time to read over break. Needless to say my break was spent watching Family Feud and obsessing over who will blog next and the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale. Maybe it's knowing that at the moment I couldn't tell you what the three topics of my morning comps are supposed to be. Is that bad? Maybe it was the weekly berating by a certain power-trippy professor. Actually, yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. Why does she feel compelled to hunt me down and demand that everything every written by Mary Wilkins Freeman must be read by next week? Just what will happen if I don't miraculously pull this off? She's told others they'd lose their assistantships. Somehow I don't see that happening. And if it did, that'd really just be more time for me to spend procrastinating and blogging. Yeah, so maybe I won't graduate in May. Really, I'm not that worried. It's not like I have anything waiting for me to finish. So I finish next year. Or the year after that. Or I have a couple kids, lie in bed at night wondering If only I had finished that thesis...

Even typing at this point is pointless. More words. Stupid, stupid words. And I'm pondering what has been permanently embossed a near inch above my asscrack. In Latin nonetheless. "In books there is freedom"?! It's my curse. Certainly there's a lot of things in books: my time, energy, life, guilt, sorrow, fear. But I'm a long ways from freedom right now.

In other news, my plant, which I refused to believe was dead and so watered faithfully for the past couple months, has revived itself. Life is worth living now.