Quick notes before writing...

Hot today, felt weak. Hints of getting sick mingled with allergy and fatigue to make me very conscious of my body in a way I don't like. I wanted to just find a comfy bed and read some Alexander Dumas, it seems like we should have eternity to read Dumas, it really sounds like heaven to me: a comfy bed and big old baggy 19th Century novels of adventure. Maybe some mint iced tea near enough.

I feel better now, I think I was just allergic to school today. Man, I did not want to be there. I would look out at my classes and think, "man, I don't want to think about this stuff, I just want to sit in a back yard or at some cafe and watch the world go by." But they kept popping up in the classroom every forty-five minutes or so and I'd have to start over and act like I was in better shape than I was.

But then, suddenly, in p.m. school, just kind of talking about identity and image, I looked out at them and thought, you guys are totally cool. And then I wasn't in a hurry anymore. I thought about how pretty soon I would give them up to the world, they'll forget my name in a year or two and that'll be that.

It bothers me that more people don't like big, baggy novels. Why is finishing the point? I think depth is the point.

I should start writing the damn papers now. Maybe I'll check baseball really quickly first.