Not just a river in Egypt…
I'm amazed at how unconcerned I am about all of the stuff I have to do over the next two weeks. Could it really be senioritis? I've never been this laidback about important tasks in my life…Article for Pulp that I need to write today, otherwise I won't have time: that's cool. 3,000 word immersion for Nonfiction 2 due on Wednesday (on which hangs the balance of my entire QPA): not a problem. Actually now that I'm really looking at it in print I'm starting to get a little freaked out. But not panic-attacky like I usually am.
I'm going to graduate from college in two weeks. Holy shit.
I'm going to be 25 in six months. Fucking groan.
I was quoting Singles last night, in particular the part where Bridget Fonda's character Janet talks about being 23 and how somewhere around 25 bizarre becomes immature. I had this small, cathartic moment when I realized that the film heroes of my youth, preserved forever in celluloid, are now younger than I am.
I was out with Paco last night. We had good conversation and made ammends for infantile behavior on both sides. Good times…but I'm sure we'll have another argument before the year is through…that's just sort of how we operate. It's silly, I know. But over hummus and Belgian beer at the Sharp Edge restuarant, we talked about our relationship going all the way back to high school, when we dated for a few months. Ha, what a bad match we were. But even then, we were constantly bickering and when we broke up we didn't speak to each other for almost 4 years. Weird.
Alright, I'm getting a little annoyed with my son because he keeps tearing up all of these cute little books he has.
I really need to shave.
