I. Can't. Breathe.

Stress. Crushing. Lungs.

(Okay, I'm exaggerating. But I will be glad when Thursday has come and gone.)

One Paper Down.

One more to go.

In the meantime, I think I'll clean my room. I don't think it's been this messy the whole time I've lived here.

But right now? I'm going to veg out.

Paper's Due Tomorrow

Have y'all heard of Spacelab Radio? It's pretty good, for you indie folks out there. And free.

Also, I have a new found love for Daytrotter. (Since I started writing my papers.)

Stinky Girl(s) in 516

Sara woke up this morning and discovered that we didn't have running water. She called the office and they said they were working on it -- that the whole complex was without water.

That was 8:15 AM. It is now 12:19 PM, and we still don't have water. I couldn't go to Spanish this morning, and now it looks like I won't be going to my 1:30 Jane Austen class.

I could rough it and go unshowered. But, um, I didn't shower yesterday. (I was reading all day -- what's the point?) So that's out of the question.

So I'm taking it as a god-send and working on my paper.

Ticking Away the Moments that Make Up a Dull Day

I just finished a really amazing book by Don DeLillo (Mao II). I spent most of the day reading it. It's a really "postmodern" book -- and it's written in a semi stream of consciousness style. It addresses the idea of time quite a bit. (What postmodern book doesn't, right?) So I've been thinking about time today -- how I measure it, its relevance, time as an abstraction.

And I've realized that I hate the idea of time more than I hate the idea of money. Quickly lapsing time or slowly moving time makes me feel more miserable than quickly vanishing money or money that's burning a hole in my pocket. A lack of time is worse than a lack of money.

So why is that? I think it's because you can always acquire money, or at least have the hope of acquiring money. But time equals life, and when we lose even a second, we lose life.

Time is an abstraction I could live without. Because I wanted my cozy, gray Sunday to last forever. Really. I wanted that book to last forever.

And I really didn't want to think about the Jane Austen paper I have to write.

What say you?

(Interesting. Time and Money. Two songs on Dark Side of the Moon. Deep man. Real deep.)

What? Prince William and his girlfriend broke up, you say?

Girls the world over swoon. (Myself included? Nahhh.)

I Am The Turnip

I could not possibly be less inspired to write my Jane Austen paper.

I've been staring at an almost completely blank Word document for approximately three hours. Like squeezing blood from a turnip, or however the saying goes.

Chasing Life

My awesome former roommate, a one Miss Marshall, sent me a present in the mail and I got it today.

For those of you that are not aware, I have a great respect (and little crush) for Sanjay Gupta, a neurosurgeon and CNN health correspondent. He teaches and practices here in Atlanta.

So Dr. Gupta was in the CNN office in New York yesterday, and Kelly got him to sign a copy of his new book for me. Nice, huh? I'm pretty excited. Here's the link for his new book, Chasing Life. And here's what he wrote:

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.

I know the blogging world is blowing up with news of Kurt Vonnegut's death, but I can't not mention it.

"If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC."

-- Vonnegut's Blues For America 07 January, 2006

Mmm, Burned Flesh.

I went to the tanning bed today, and I'm crispy.

No, I don't believe in tanning beds. And yes, I am far too Scotch-Irish to tan. I felt really guilty. Like I should be smoking five cigarettes at a time since I was scorching the outside of my body. Might as well scorch the inside too, eh?

Next up? Plastic surgery! (Totally kidding.)

Best Lyrics Ever Written?

"What’s up directors? Grab your knives!
It’s time to take all of the lives
Of the people who cannot see the somnolent genius of Tarkovsky

Come on authors grab your guns!
It’s time to murder everyone who has never heard of Apollinaire
Send them all to hell it’s only fair

Cast them all into the flames if they don’t know any names
Of the principles of Arte Povera
Or are unfamiliar with le serpent mascara
(That’s right mascara snake.)

Come on painters alive or dead
Give all the cretins a boot to the head
If they don’t extoll convincingly
Tempered Elan era Kandinsky

Throw them all into a well if they cannot tell
An Arto Parv feast of repetition from a Schoenburg 12 tone composition

Come on artists the day is here
And your mission is very clear
Put an end to the bourgeoisie
And death to everyone who’s never heard of me"

-- Of Montreal's "Art Snob Solution*"

I absolutely LOVE the sarcasm here. And, no, I don't know half of the names they mention. But that's the point, right? I'm not an Art Snob.

* I dedicate this song to all of my favorite English majors at GSU and a couple of other folks out there in the blogosphere.

Wha?!?

Why is it 34 degrees in Atlanta in April?

For the first time since I got my license when I turned 16, the weight listed on my license is correct.

I Had a Dream

I had a dream last night that I was trying to convince Lil' Kim that racism is a two-way street and that we should all just get along.

True to the Stereotype: Mary Kay Would Be Proud

It's a nice night. I have my windows and sliding doors open to let in the breeze and to hear the thunder somewhere off in the distance.

But the breeze isn't all that's blowing in. On the porch below ours, there are three or four women smoking and talking about guns. (I kid you not. The word "glock" was mentioned.)

Another girl walks in from the parking lot, obviously looking confused.

"You here for the Mary Kay party?"

"Yeah, how do I get down there?"

"You just foller them steps back there -- all the way back -- and turn a right."