Sorry. The finger's just recovered enough for me to type without being in pain. I checked out the Zippo the other day and cleaned the dried blood off of it. Kinda yucky. STOP WITH THE DAMN HAMMERING!!! Apparently the person in the room above me has decided to take up capentry as a nighttime hobby. And by carpentry, I mean banging on my freakin' ceiling. Maybe they smoke pot. "Pot doesn't lead to other drugs; no, it leads to fuckin' carpentry"~Dennis Leary. The man is my hero. Got an A today on a paper in my Honors class, with bunches of positive comments. Ridiculously proud of myself. Finished my book ahead of schedule for comp lit, and have part of my new scene for theatre memorized, also did some extra credit for German. Those As will come to me yet. So I was thinking today about an individulized major program. . .I think it would be cool to be a gifted and talented teacher for little kids. I wonder how I could set that up. . .might email the department later tonight, just to see. Headed up to Alpha Gamma Rho (woohoo!) this weekend, for senior dance. Lots of top secret goings on, but I'll fill you in Saturday or Sunday, unless, in fact, I stay to rush the fraternity :) Then it will most definitely be on Sunday. I don't know that Boyfriend has come up with a fool-proof plan to disguise the fact that, um, I'm a girl. Could pose a problem. Oh, I have a musing for all of you, taken from a conversation with a good buddy of mine last night. Here it is:

realists know when their wings should be clipped, dreamers wait for the wings to vanish, pessimists never grow them

Is that right? I myself am a realist, I think, with aspirations of becoming a dreamer. Again, with THE F'ING HAMMERING!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How's a girl supposed to think? And I mean really, it's not as though it's 9:42 in the evening. RA Jon is on the look out for the offending hammerer. Perhaps it's on my floor. It is!!! The girl across the hall from me, of course. Because quiet hours didn't start. . .3 hours ago. But whatever. It's not like they listen. That's why I move to the fraternity house on the weekends. Because at least after a while those boys. . .men, I suppose, go to sleep, or at least quiet down. Not here. Yay for apartment life next year. Here's the thing, though. . .we've got, what, 4 and half-5 and a half weeks of school left, and she's found something that she needs to nail to her rented walls???? sigh. I don't fit in with other girls. . .how depressing teenager can I get! Please, someone just dye my hair black and bleach my skin. I don't mean it like that, but I don't. I fit in much better with boys, or with girls who fit in with boys. Not the girlie girls. The ones who can hang out with girls all the time. I don't relate to my sex well. Is it a competetive thing? Perhaps. Not altogether sure that I care. Haven't written poetry in a while, starting to feel my void return, the one that plagued me throughout senior year. I need, desperately, a poetry class, something to make me write all the time. I need to be spurred. Will I make it as a writer, then? I should've just taken 200 level poetry again this semester, to keep writing. I need a change of place, I can't write where I live very well. Nomadic poet. That's what I'll be. Who wants to see the world with me? I'll get my bartending license before leaving the states and wander Europe, living in youth hostels, working odd jobs. Seeing the world. I would sell my car to have the money to do this. Which I may do. Or start working, save all the money I make in a seperate account, and use it when I've graduated to tour Europe. I don't know why I'm so eager to get out of the country, of the safe little world that I live in. New things, new people, I crave them. But I've miles to go before I sleep, so off with me. G'night, all.