I am a senior. I am not entirely sure how I feel about this.
On the bright side, I have just my senior seminar today. We'll see how that goes.
I had my first class as a senior today. Dr. Wasserman entered the room and said he was just there to erase the boards.
Anyway, we did talk about the problems that he had assigned back in May, and we even declared one of them solved, meaning I have to write it up to turn in next week. Of course, I have, well, a lot of problems to write up between now and next week. But hey.
I don't feel like writing tonight for some reason. I'm listening to the playlist from both trips to see Andrew--49 songs in total, as he made two CDs for the August trip, and I haven't gotten a chance to just listen to all of them straight yet. Doing this while in a premenstrual state is not good for the State of the Sushi. Research shows this. So does the Kleenex in the trash can.
I am sniffling to JAY-Z, flist. You don't cry to Jay-Z. This is so wrong that I can't think of an appropriate simile. What is wrong with me?
The seniors did the senior shout today at lunch. I was already in line, still enjoying my sense of denial of being a senior. Apparently I'm going through the five stages of grief like a textbook. So how do I go through anger and blame here, get mad at my professors for assigning oh so much work and get mad at myself for not being a special snowflake all through my time at Agnes?
That's probably how it'll happen, actually.
What else is there? I've had the hardest time remembering what I'm planning to do five seconds from now. For example, I'll go to get something from the other side of the room so I could use it at my desk, and then I return to my desk and think, Wait. I know I got this for something. But what?
Except this has happened a lot more often than usual lately. Strange.