Well, barring that two week period (a.k.a. 'the first two weeks of classes') when I split my time between a hospital bed and my apartment.
Yep. The night after a glorious 'Welcome Back to College!' Star Wars marathon in our new flat I woke up all puffy and cute. Several trips to the hospital later, I was a medical mystery. It would have been cooler if Hugh Laurie were insulting my intelligence and popping pills all sexy-like, but, alas, most of my doctor dealings ran closer to the hospital scene from Idiocracy.
It's all gravy now. I think I've caused enough mental and emotional anguish for my loved ones for a while. Seriously. The levels of loveliness reached by everyone around me were borderline dangerous.
And Third Year Liz is a force to be reckoned with. She goes to bed early(ish), plans ahead, pays the bills, does (almost) all of her reading, and sends internship applications months before deadlines require. As I type this, I already have my schedule set to be in college all day.
'But you have no classes on Thursdays.'
'I know. I'd like to get into the library before my responsibilities start at noon. Secondary reading, you know.'
On the one hand, the fact that I am fast becoming the Squarest of Them All is making me sick. I mean, I never had much street-cred to begin with. This responsibility kick is going to seriously weaken my chances of getting into the T-Birds.
Por otro lado, I really hope it lasts. This kind of frenzy I've been working myself into reminds me of high school. Back in the day, I was a beast. I don't want to quite reach that level of insanity again, as I've become quite accustomed to more than three hours of sleep, but I do appreciate my down time a lot more when there is so little. My little cup of green tea tastes better because I earned that mofo. And because I treated myself to a super-neato trip to the tea shop, but whatever.
Things to keep in mind:
-I've only kept this nonsense up for a week and a half, so we'll see what happens.
-Buddy will always support me.
Follower Love-Fest #13: Anne Brown
Annie here loves to Vogue. She just can't get enough of it. Ask her, 'Whatchu' lookin' at?' I dare you. It's a sure-fire way to get this little lady snapping her fingers and striking a pose like it's going out of style. Really, Anne just loves Madonna. We nearly parted ways during a lunch when I said that Madonna's arms make me want to curl up in a ball and hide behind Michelle Obama. I wound up wearing Anne's slice of Key lime pie in my hair on the walk home. Who looked stupid? I did.