35 down
I'm 35 now. How is this possible? Thirty-five down and entering the thirty-sixth. Am I still "in my 30s" or am I "pushing 40"? How can anyone who lives by the silly bounce be either?

It has been a pretty good birthday. Well, Friday and Saturday were good. Today I've slept (guaranteeing misery all next week at school) and worked on highly stupid projects created by highly clueless professors who think student teachers don't have enough to do with the actual eight hours a day of student teaching plus whatever they must do for real work, so bring on the crayons and busywork because Jesus Effing Christ forbid that anyone in the School of Ed acknowledge that we are... not going there.

And soon I will get to work on Those Things that Pay the Rent. For breakfast, I ate fresh pasta -- uncooked. I'm too tired to boil the water for five minutes to make it nice.

And that's why this site is on hiatus at the moment. I want to really speak my mind, but I don't want anyone to see it until student teaching is o-v-e-r and the semester is o-v-e-r and I have g-r-a-d-u-a-t-e-d. Publishing naked thoughts in "draft" mode just isn't as exciting -- you end up censoring yourself in order to at least have something new on the site.

But Friday was great, at least in terms of my birthday. (In terms of it being the last day research papers could be turned in, it was a rather maddening day altogether.) I got a professionally baked Hummingbird Cake -- my name in frosting! -- from the English Department along with a very sweet card.

And Saturday I was awoken by some knocking at 9 a.m. Too bad I didn't answer the door -- eighteen long-stem roses lay in a sweltering box until 5 p.m. or so when pure and unlikely chance led to their discovery. Their condition isn't too bad, though. Alas, no scent, but that's florists for you. I can't remember the last time I smelled florist-bought roses that had any scent. Florists are such wankers -- they should disclose whether or not the roses they use will be scented. I'm sure that Mike, being in Australia where they probably haven't sanitized flowers beyond recognition, thought he was sending me something fragrant (and not wilted).

Maybe I am not in the best of moods, after all.

Okay, to be honest, I'm not liking 35 very much. I'm very stressed about the career change, money, grad school (frankly, the only reason I want to go to grad school right now is so I can get an enormous student loan to pay for rent and ramen noodles while I look for a teaching job), and the fact that I have three more student teaching evaluations and student teaching is going to last forever and student teaching is going to kill me.

So, I wish I had the energy to drive the two miles to my parents' house where they would like to celebrate my birthday, but I'm very busy right now being depressed and exhausted by the things not happening even much more than by the things that are.

I have twelve hours to wash my hair and get peppy. I may have to find a scrunchie.

27 September 2004 |



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