I've been saying it for two days, but this time I really have to write.

I told Dan to be mad at me if I'm not done the Country Pumpkins revision by six o'clock, and the Fantastic Quest revision by ten.

Homemade chai latte, mmmmm.

of broken coffee vessels

Funny, how anger can be delayed and then come out hours after the fact, while eating a bowl of Coco Puffs.

With no one around, no one to kick or scream at, there were only so many ways to express my anger. One was by throwing my Donovan cap down upon the table in a rageful manner, another was to eat my Coco Puffs as violently as possible, flirting with the possibilty of Coco Milk spills. Risky.

I was (and still am) mad about the mug. My wonderful, exceedingly high-quality, Job Lot bought, Christmas light travel mug. It only cost me $2.50, but that doesn't mean I'm not mad that someone in my family broke it and won't own up. They have no respect for other people's stuff, and I believe that in almost any other household, someone would have apologized to me by now.

Instead, when I asked my dad about the broken mug, I was told "no one broke your mug." Gee, then why is it broken? Why has the handle come off, taking a chunk of the mug with it? Why was it in perfect condition, waiting to go in the dishwasher, when I went to bed, and missing its handle when I got up?

Sure, no one broke my mug.

Awake, oh my

So here I am sitting at the Student Union Cafe before eight o'clock in the morning... This is a bizarre experience for me, what with mornings being such unfamiliar territory.

Morning is just like I remembered, so cold, bright, and tiresome. I can barely even imagine the other end of the day, I'm so far away from it. Outside, the sun is shining from the wrong direction. I would take a walk, see how the campus looks in the strange light, but that would involve freezing my face off.

Dan said he doesn't want my face to freeze off. He said it's cute, and he likes it, and to stop apologizing for being late. Oh, and he said my homemade White Chocolate Latte was awesome.

I've lost about six pounds or so in the past few weeks, so I don't feel too bad that I am now going to Donovan for a possibly artery-hazardous breakfast.

Cheers!

booze it up

Lately it's been one of those times when, if I do update, I don't finish writing any entries and they just sit there in draft form. So, I figured, now that I can type not-quite-super fast, maybe I'll just time myself and freewrite for a few minutes on whatever I'm thinking, or whatever's been going on.

Emeril is one of the funniest shows I've ever seen. It's not funny in the way he means it to be funny, certainly not the jokes his audience actually laughs at, but it's funny because he is so blatantly drunk. He lurches, he forgets words, he had pseudo-sexual interludes with his blender. Most of all, he gestures Italianly, and the gestures never match whatever it is he's actually saying. He also makes threats about oozing fig filling, which doesn't end up oozing. BAM! Kick it up a notch! What are those called--jimmies?-- sounds like they had a bad childhood! BAM!

I have to have my one-on-one tutorial with my creative writing prof. tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it.