it's just a cold. nothing to cry to mom about but it's the kind of cold that attacks your brain cells rendering you stupid as well as congested. reading anything above sixth grade level prose is contraindicated.
this does mean I could read the next book in the Tripod Series I guess. perhaps after therapy. these books don't count in my can't-pick-one-up-till-I-finish-reading-o
or maybe Little Britches. it does have the added appeal of being a western autobiographical narrative so I could even pretend I was working.
my fellowship money is slowly leaving its traces across various net-accessible student accounts. it has yet to hit my bank though. the university is predictably unconcerned with getting you your funds in time actually to pay your bills. I'm giving them one more day and then I'm going to play angry student at someone in Sproul Hall. not that that will help.
in the meantime we live on credit. therapy on credit. books on credit. handsoap on credit. unfortunately the taqueria only takes cash but you know I'm not going to quit eating burritos just because I'm almost out of money.
if I were well I'd consider going to the beach today. because it is gray and windy out there, that's why. you know me.