Stayed up til 2 this morning.
Finishing that paper that was due at midnight…
The professor ok’ed it, though.
Stupid paper still sucked.
It was sooo different from the first two assignments…
I feel like I let him down.
But really it was myself.
At least I can recognize my own faults, right?
But on the upside, I allowed (read: begged, pleaded) my husband to read it and offer some editing advice.
It went really well.
Mostly because I hated what was there, but was too tired to see it clearly enough to restructure it.
So he offered a bunch of changes, and I held firm on a few, but did the rest his way.
I’m just so bummed that I didn’t come up with something better.
There were some lines in it that I loved.
But the overall flow of it just wasn’t there.
The assignment had been to take a notebook on a walk, and write while walking and pondering a question or issue.
At least I made a great first impression, and have more chances to dazzle, right?
My cold has taken a detour—
From throat to nasal cavities.
So now I can talk (mostly),
But I drip and sniff like some damn coke whore eating jalapenos.
Or someone with a cold…
But never fear!!!!
Today has not been all bad!
I took the boys to Taco Time for lunch.
And there was a whole table of hot construction workers.
I came home, and a little red audi TT zinged up to the curb and I was greeted once again by a drool-worthy man.
Here to measure my basement for carpet.
Sadly only took a few minutes, and I stayed out of his way.
Did I say that already?
I guess I just have a deep and profound appreciate for the male form.
Renders me speechless, yo.
Also, I had a revelation while I was thrashing out to metallica, in the parking lot of the kids’ school.
My appreciation for fast cars is poetic, not scientific.
Dammit, I had it worded better when it came to me.
Stupid brain, fucking things up again.
They get delivered in pristine condition, lovely flowing words, coherent, cohesive, and cohabitating—
Cohabitating with my OWN choppy thoughts, in my easily-shaken brain.
I love fast cars.
But I realized that my appreciation for them is from a poet’s view, not a mechanic’s.
Nuttin wrong with that.
I love the way they move, the way they feel—
The way they make me feel.
I love the smell of the gas, the sound of the purring (or growling) engine…
I love the way gravity presses me back into my seat as my foot presses down.
(and now I’ve spent twenty minutes in a futile search for whether or not that is the proper physics explanation for the force pushing you back during forward motion. I’m pretty sure it’s not gravity, cuz that’s up and down. The only other thing I could think of was torque, but all I can find on that is how it is used as a rating system for engines. Faaaack. There’s no fucking way I’m taking Physics again. So, if you know the answer to this query, I would appreciate it. I would NOT, however, appreciate any flippancy or arrogance in your deliverance. If so? No boobs for you!!)
ok, time to play UNO.
Yes, I”ll post a photo in a few.