I just found an old document I took notes in my first week in grad school at Texas Tech. Apparently someone said, “This is your Julia Roberts year,” when referring to our first year of grad school?
I also heard, “We are all warriors in the fight against stupidity.”
Found a bunch of photos I took in Texas, too. This includes excellent latte art and this typically massive truck, which also was intended to demonstrate how much space cars kept between each other when stopped at stop lights! It’s insane! Half a car’s length between cars!
Damn, Texas. You were a trip.
I’m too stressed out to function well most days, which is causing a lot of problems. I don’t sleep well and I don’t feel well. I don’t have enough time to talk to my friends, and I don’t have any work done. I can’t focus, ever, because of all the pressure I feel. And I have no confidence in what I’m doing, or how I look, or how I act. I’m in a general state of being overwhelmed by finances, learning new things, and not having more than a couple hours to myself at a time.
This not at all what summer is supposed to be like for a student. I haven’t even read a single fucking book.
I’m ending my 20s feeling more vulnerable and less desirable as a human/friend/girlfriend than I’ve felt in ages–possibly ever. I’m not even depressed by it, which is either a testament to how stressed I really am or just a sign that I accepted this new view of myself long ago.
But let it be known that my computer just fell off a table and didn’t break and I will never be more grateful for anything in my life.
I go to coffee shops in the early morning hours more to be the one unmarried heathen that’s not studying the bible than to actually do my work.
The midwest is a strange place I obviously do not belong. 54 days left in my summer!
I mean, the rumours are getting more and more frequent. I feel it’s more likely than not that Daniel Craig is out as James Bond.
Tom Hiddleston–who’d been a popular pick ages ago and sort of fell off the radar for a while amidst talks of Idris Elba (the world would never be so lucky), Damian Lewis (uh, no, because the only ginger for the job is Harry), and Aidan Turner (too cute and impish, IMO)–somehow closed shop for the bookmakers with his assured Bondness.
Follow the Tom hyperlink and you’ll read a lot that’s similar to how I feel. He’s not, initially, my top choice. The anonymity of Connery and Craig are a big part of why I liked them. But there’s his past that adds to it, and there’s an edge that makes him more than Moore and Brosnan (it might be that Loki thing I can’t shake). Should it be him, I’m definitely OK with it.
This might be all hype, all talk, all part of the beginning of the fervour around Bond 25. But with how tidily Spectre ended things, and Craig saying fuck off around the premiere, and the rumours about his newly signed flick, and since Mendes is out for directing, and the fact that it is the big 2-5… I think it’s time we start looking ahead. Bond is (maybe) dead! Long live Bond!
When I’m drunk, and I want other people to be drunk, too, I say I’ll buy their alcohol. Usually people protest, and I am forced to explain that I’m independently wealthy so there’s no concern about me purchasing drinks. Yep. I say that, I’m definitely feeling the booze.
Well. Imagine my delight when Katharine Hepburn, sassy reference goddess in Desk Set, drunk on champagne says, “I’m independently wealthy you know.”
I feel so vindicated in all of my life choices now. If I wasn’t in a hotel room I’d be poppin’ bottles in the stacks.
I’m in my last week of my first year of grad school. I’m actually completing the year! It’s hard to believe.
It’s also just hard. I’m writing a paper for 50% of my grade for a professor who is notoriously hard on students, but I’ve never had to write for her. And my perfectionist nature wants six more weeks to do all this research and write this amazing paper (because the other four weeks worth of research and prep was not helpful). But I have four days. Really only two days.
So naturally I decided to watch Firefly again. God, Nathan Fillion is a dreamboat. Maybe I should be Malcolm next year for Halloween. Anyway…
Bring it, school. I fly out for a wedding tomorrow night and I will not be denied.
As I Frankenstein together a term paper–lots of copy & paste, dragging things about, automated footnotes, etc–I am ever so grateful that I am writing a graduate level paper on a computer instead of a typewriter or ::gasp:: having to physically write the whole thing out. I would never finish. There would always be mistakes because I am incredibly careless. I would kill so many trees and pens.
Oh, Lord, thank you for this technology.