Despertar

oop

Same reason I have a hard time keeping a paper journal. False starts. Either I didn't like the cover as much as I thought I did, or the handwriting was too slanty on the fourth or fifth page, or I accidentally wrote an entry I realized I'd never want to read again, and then it ended as quickly as it began.

For real this time, though.

*

In the real world, things are...mediocre. Georgetown makes its first-years endure this week-long thing about resolving transnational conflict, and it's, like, as boring as it's possible for something to be without sacrificing all its meaning. There's a lady talking at the front of the room, she has been at it for four hours today in total, and no one is listening. Few are listening. Hugh and I estimate a ten percent paying-attention rate, but the ten percent isn't consistent, it shifts all over the room.

Santa brought me a really sexy pair of leather boots, my first ones that stand taller than my ankles, the exact boots I have been wanting for months, and I've worn them a thousand times already.

Today is my mother's fifty-second birthday.

Et cetera, et cetera.

I can never figure out how people invest themselves in the details of life, details like these, like class, their jobs, so on, unless they are really PASSIONATE about these things, which is something else I can't wrap my brain around. I'm one of those one-obsession-at-a-time people, which means I usually have room for one major person, pursuit or interest that designates my orbit, absorbs all my real interest and inhibits me from actually caring about anything else. Alongside that, I usually have room for one full-time distraction, which is a huge necessity because living for one thing, particularly one uncooperative thing, will kill you if you haven't got a distraction.

I would give my boots back to have my Good Thing. And that's saying a lot.

*

This place has become, generally speaking, a baby factory. The world now boasts a Charles Jason and a Cameron Audrey and a Cameron Jakob that weren't here before. That, to me, is infinitely more meaningful than the International Monetary Fund, and it is outrageously unfortunate that it's the latter I have to think about today.

Our next-door neighbor was telling us yesterday how Norplant has changed her life, and it was like she was raving in Sanskrit.

What?

*

Reading the Katy Chronicles is saving me from a slow death by complete boredom.