I really have nothing thrilling to write about. Actually I have no topic at all, which is a terrible start to an already dying blog post.
I just need to write. I don’t really want to write anything else on immigration, undocumented workers, or political cartoons (yeah, thanks for that media smarts). I don’t want to start on another newspaper article. I just want to write to write.
The past week, my life has been a giant ball of nerves, and that’s not Allee-like. Homework nerves, sickness nerves, boyish nerves. They’re all clumping together in the pit of my stomach. I’ll probably get an ulcer. Thinking about it, nerves aren’t terrible in and of themselves. They keep me on my toes. It’s just when everything gets jumbled…it makes me feel like a pot of gumbo.
In happier news, I went on a Poe and pie date yesterday. I came with a can of refried beans, and ended up with a bendy calculator. Shaun and I laughed for a long time about the irony of an English department sponsored activity giving away calculators as door prizes.
How I love thee, dating. I wish there was more of you to fill my life.
Despite my gumbo-ness, life is good. I’m still the shy (ha.), awkward girl at the paper that nobody knows, but…it will…get…better.
Oh yeah, the end.