January 22, 2003
Shhhhoop to Go
If I were not madly in love with Mike, I would travel back in time, to the fourteenth century, to be exact, woo Geoffrey Chaucer, and have his babies. This assertion is based on two things.
A) He beat up a monk, and solidified his hatred of the order by depicting his monk pilgrim in The Canterbury Tales as a veritable walking, talking penis.
2) His visage is, to me, quite dramatically like that of a certain actor. Let us hope he walks around naked, eh?
Today is not nearly so joyous as it should be. Within hours, I will be taking the driving test again, and I am crossing all crossable appendages that I pass. I must also go to my first day of training at the Texas Roadhouse, which I am not looking forward to nearly as much as I should. I've been spoiled by my two weeks without lifting a finger, or even a toe, and spending the whole of my days off in Mike's company. Today, I will only see him for a few hours before I pass out from exhaustion.
I both feel and look like hell right now.
Yet again, I must do another ridiculous and pointless and time consuming group project. I get to make posters and learn the values of team work and the destructive power of yellow construction paper. Damn Geology. Damn Miami Plan. Damn non-related group members.
I also rather liked that I said that my major was Lit about seven times, and then the other girl in the group said hers was Spanish with a Lit minor, and the stubborn looking guy in our group, of undeclared major, asked her about Literature because he was thinking about majoring in it.
Am I just not cute? Do I have a bitch tatoo the size of Arkansas on my face?
And it's not that I want attention from other guys. In fact, I like that they, for the most part, leave me alone. But it never fails to make me think that there must be something wanting in my form, in my face, in my voice and the way I carry myself.
I'm a hosebeast, I suppose, and Mike is The Hosebeast Master.
Strange to think of him clad in a loincloth and bounding about screen in a Tarzan-esque fashion...
Excuse me while I go pray to the Great Colourless Omniscience that today passes quickly, and with success.
astera at 10:37 a.m.