nostoi

The mind ought sometimes to be diverted that it may return to better thinking.
--Phaedrus

I live to post again, despite all evidence to the contrary. I wanted to tell my, . . . well, reader (What's up, PMK?), that I am trying to get a handle on my schedule so as to be able to write much more often. I actually tried to post this past weekend, but the %&^#@ blogger.com server was down. Or maybe it's just my little PowerBook, which has seen better days.

Since I last wrote, I have been assiduously practicing the role of Dr. Joan Bushell (reference, anyone?) by working seven days and 60 hours a week at two jobs for the past month, by volunteering for two organizations, by running the office's March Madness pool, and by willing myself to be attracted to someone--anyone--so that I can for the love of all that is good in this world stop thinking about him already (and stop listening to that damn Ani Difranco song and crying). I have, however, managed to read three wonderful books, see two fascinating documentaries, attend a thought-provoking lecture, hear a wonderfully innovative female acapella trio, and procure the undying devotion of the young man who works down the street from the cafe. I hope to tell you about each of these things in more detail soon.

For now, just a few notes, as I am in the midst of my comforting routine of packing and cleaning and organizing the night before a trip. Tomorrow, I head to Raleigh (for my first day off since February 20) to see friends and family. I can't wait. Yay for mini-breaks!

Horrifyingly, one of my favorite professors at UT met with an untimely death, in some sort of household accident at his home in Middlebury. He was 44 years old and is survived by his wife and 2 small daughters. As his very well observed obituary said, "Our world will be a little darker without him."

Bravely, I bought a new car, a white 1991 Volvo 240 named Fenno. It is, bar none, the fanciest car I have ever owned. It has power windows. And automatic transmission. I am living the life here, people.

Thankfully, I have discovered the open letters on McSweeney's. Read them. You won't be sorry.

Surprisingly, my ex-boyfriend was a jackass.