May 16, 2003
Mr. Smithtastic
It feels like morning to me. It is, quite obviously, not, but when one does not properly retire until around 5 a.m., noon makes a scant seven hours of sleep. I am awake, due to my dad's persistent phone calling. Mike slumbers on.
It feels so good to be back.
Before me are scattered various sheets of loose important looking paper from the financial aid office, including information to apply for various alternative loans. All of which, I insisted to my counselor, require a cosigner. She instructed me to apply, and get denied, that way the university might see the dire nature of my situation.
Sure they will.
There is this little anxious knot forming in my stomach concerning school, nevermind the fact that it is 3 months away. I'll be rooming with Carrie and Bethany in turns, as they are both going to Luxembourg, and I plan to contribute various action figures and a bookshelf to our common abode. I'm taking 15 hours of class, including one concerning the evolution of man, British women writers, and an introductory course to women studies. I hope this does not prove to be the schedule from hell masquerading as the schedule from heaven, which is often the case.
Right now I'm not doing any of the things I told myself I'd do as soon as the summer started. Granted, I am working more than I planned, and spending way too much time in Mike's bed playing Morrowind, but still. I will write. Books, and letters, and poetry, and queries. Which reminds me. I need to buy stamps.
For now, the day holds a trip back to Newport on the Levee, where Mike and I are going to see this cool IMAX movie about the Titanic. We were just there on Wednesday to see The Matrix: Reloaded, which by the way, rocked my fucking socks. There is something about a slew of Mr. Smiths that just makes my blood boil.
And that's right, I said Wednesday, because I am a brat and saw it before so many others in Cincinnati. Granted, the theatre was full of absolute idiots and high school kids, and Mike's companions from work were a little more than scathing when it came to wit and general conversation, I enjoyed myself immensely. The arm rest in the middle of our super squishy chairs folded up, so I could relax comfortably close to Mike.
He didn't mind when I cried my eyes out, or made bad jokes. He granted a soft touch for the former and a few of his own concerning the latter.
Last night we looked up Weird Al Yankovic songs and Star Wars parodies. We laid in bed and talked about who we are, what we quite aren't, and what we really want to be.
So, yeah. I'm still in love, too.
astera at 12:42 p.m.