Day 4

All that talk about not stopping by here and then, here I am again ... alas, this means that I am not typing away at my comps question. I am, however, THINKING about it.

Why, yes, the many punctuation marks found in this post are a direct result of constructing many, long, convoluted sentences that might have a point, but it is so HARD to tell.

"No, I don't have any fucking IDEA what to write, as a matter of fact! Why would you ask me that?"

"We're not going to Oregon until you write something on that comps question!"

[If you have no idea what these two random quotes have to do with anything in the world, then take a look back at the post titled The Cabin.]

There are also a lot of asides in the drafts, as a matter of fact. Why would you ask me that?

Since this blog is just you [and by that, I guess, I mean ME] and me and the four hundred thousand people who want to know more about the song in H*A*P*P*Y F*E*ET [trying to make sure they don't accidentally end up on this page where I talk shit about them], I can, and do write whatever I want here.

This will be more random than usual...and may, or may not, include a random photo that has absolutely nothing to do with the post ... how could anything be representative of randomness anyway? I am not a math major, I could not possible know the answer to that question.

I am sitting here, pressing the back button on my shuffle to I get to just the right combination of Sade and Luther Vandross... they sing so sweetly directly into my ears and attempt to calm me ... it's nearly 3pm and I have exactly ONE page of draft two (that is draft of essay 2 not second draft of essay 1 ... I actually have a draft 2 of essay 1, that should count for something...though it is not even close to being finished...)

So, as I was saying, I am sitting here, listening to Sade and Luther sing some of my favorite songs, and I began to tear up [... god, why does writing essays make me want to cry?!], and I thought, "Do all old wounds hurt in just this way?" [I didn't actually think it in quotation marks, but I am in love with the punctuation just now, so I am including it.]

What way? It is an uncomfortable pain, yet comforting in some familiar way. It hurts deep, not like fresh physical pain that might just hurt for a minute. It hurts in that weird bruised way that you touch over and over just to feel it ... why do we do that?

These songs bring all that exquisite pain rushing back ... and I push the back button and listen again.

Yeah, pegame!

Photo ... pretty darned random, Squaw Valley, June 19, 2010