I don't know. I'm broke, I'm headed toward drunk, and I'm depressed. There's two holes in my ceiling, no women in my life, a festering wound in my arm, and a helluva deadline in my future. My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus. I need to be held, but there's no arms to hold me. My truck's broke, my larder's empty, and my clothes are all wet. I don't even have a dog, but I expect that if he were to exist, he'd've r-u-n-n-o-f-t by now. What the hell am I supposed to do?


Women delight, confuse, and mystify me, and one woman in particular, who will most likely be my undoing for a long while yet. Other than that, I have little to say.


So much to relate, and most of it took place on Friday. I'm going to Cambridge -- more or less -- and I'm taking three hours with Quinn in Summer I, when he'll be teaching me Old English! I applied for my passport on Friday, and sent off the application for the programme as well; this was followed by the Fulbright Award ceremony, which, as all ceremonies are, was tedious. But afterwards, I went to Julius Caesar, the Brando version, and... well, I'm not going to publish the rest of the evening online, but it was inexperssible in words and long-sought-after.

The paper got in, if you're wondering, but it's crap, and I was off my stride all day yesterday: Connolly and I spent three hours just hanging out and attempting to speak Latin, a venture of doubtful success, but nonetheless worth having. The evening was capped off with dinner at A Taste of Thai, with friends who seem to think the world of me, for whatever reason.

"Let me confront you with the arguments of Reason herself; then you will see that she is right."


Had to break into my own damn house today, and then spent the rest of the afternoon getting groceries. I'm tired, and I have a paper due tomorrow. Woo!


What a depressingly average week. I've been working on all this website stuff for Dave. I got the paper back from Sexton, and it was marked up in ways that mean I'll not have any free weekends from now until the semester's end. Coon didn't belive that I'd read all the stuff I told her I'd read, or done the things I'd told her I'd done, and berated me again; can't wait until the fall. I've also been trying to work on getting a "Latina Viveat" club together, where we could speak Latin aloud, for fun and prophet; I may have found a time, but that remains to be seen. I'm also entertaining thoughts of running for Prytanis for 2003/4.
I'm really worried about going on Study Abroad this summer; it means assuming a lot of debt, and possibly doing things that may not be very interesting. On the other hand it's England, in the summer.
I wish I could say it would take care of itself, but... shit. I can't, and it won't, and I've got to worry about keeping the flat in the summer, and paying the bills.
I hate stress. It may very well kill me.

Sic volvere parces.


Okay, so, much to relate. I gave a presentation on Thursday that was I assume warmly received. Then, on Friday, 10 of us left for the HSF convention, which was very interesting. Old friends were met (and sadly snubbed, I'm afraid, but that's convention for you) and new friends made. After our victory (see below), we ended up at "Toto's", a real Italian restauraunt run by a real Southern Italian, which was most unique; as it turns out, they only serve food on Friday nights, so we lucked out.
Two of the three papers were not so good, and the middle one was GREAT, but it didn't win; in fact, the worst was honored, which makes me wonder about the state of the minds of the executive board.
Half of us won the Certamin; Aaron Randolph was elected as Megas Grammateus. The shirts sold quite briskly, and in fact we are nearly out of them, despite the fact that I think these were possibly the worst I've done.
Other than that, life has returned to normal, inasmuch as one can call stress and madness normal.