Zalon Draconis signed off at 12:04:19 AM.
hobbitsubculture: noooo
Previous message was not received by Zalon Draconis because of error: User Zalon Draconis is not available.
hobbitsubculture: noooo don't go yet!
hobbitsubculture: i JUST figured out why Wispride cheese is called Wispride!
hobbitsubculture: because it's from Wisconsin!

Uh, yeah.

Spent the day sort of drifting around...

Spent the day sitting under various trees, writing various things. I skipped work, but was actually very productive, in a sort of way that doesn't actually get me any money.

The deadline for my novella is June 30. Or something. Doesn't really matter, as the contest is quarterly. I've been doing all the writing in my decorated comp. notebook with the flower on it. The notebook always gets lots of compliments, so I'm very proud of the notebook. I expect good things will come of it.

Dan and I went to the Thai star last night, and were fatties. Fried rice cravings, how like us.

Sleep is so much more important. This is completely against my better judgement. But with the number of extensions we've had... well there's really no excuse, is there?

"writing" an essay

Dear Jacques Derrida,

Just now I was singing a song about you. It went to the tune of "Joy to the World," and it was all about how much I hate to read anything you've written, or even worse, to think about anything you've written. Supposedly you introduced binary along with logocentrism in "Of Grammatology," but I'm not finding the quote I need. You did this on purpose, you metric-using fiend! Surely the differance pun was much more clever and interesting in your native French? You look like Harpo Marx, but you are postmodern, which I hate to say. It is a shame you died last spring semester, the last time I took this horrid course. If I had known sooner you hadn't died ages ago, I would have sought you out and given you a severe poke on the shoulder.

Thanks to you, this is the most typing I've done all evening. Morning.

Wishing that all your writings would fall on top of a vast mountain of burning muffin stumps,
Kristin Lee