tavie.com

I wrote my Dances With Wolves essay last night. Man, is it terrible. No substance whatsoever. Enough style to get me through. That's my way, baby: all style, zero substance. Shouldn't I be in the arts? (Erica's husband is trying to get me to practice telling people that I'm in publishing. "Oh, yes. I'm in publishing. La-dee-dah." So far I have not been able to do this. I'm a terrible liar. I feel much more comfortable telling people I'm an office drudge for a publishing company. "I'm in publishing, la-dee-dah." Maybe if I wore suits like Annie Hall it would aid in my pro-cess.)

Tonight I have to study for my theatre midterm. I'm not terribly worried.

In a week and a half I have a sociolinguistics midterm. He handed out a long list of study questions. I fear I've been a bit cocky with my lax attitude towards this class. I have a lot of brushing up to do. I have to read Keith Basso for two different classes now. This guy gets around.

I finally finished the tassel on erin's Harry Potter scarf. I can now give it to her in all its imperfect, curled-up glory, only eleven months late.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:54 PM | shower me with attention