Squeeze the minutes dry.
<<2002-11-26 - 12:07 p.m.>>

All of a sudden I have about eight hundred things to do and about twelve minutes in which to do them.

I am going home for Thanksgiving. Why am I doing that? Home is so far away, and it would be nice to hop in the car with Kara and Miriam and Megan tomorrow and spend Thanksgiving with Megan's family. Rowen has other plans, and is doing passive-agressive me-like "Well, I wish I'd known about this earlier, but I guess there's nothing I can do now..." things.

And then my linguistics paper is due a week from today. I haven't started. Eeek.

Oh, but Ed liked my Hum paper, the one I thought was totally disorganized. So far, paper conferences with Ed have gone as follows: I get there, he just sort of goes, "Well, there's not much I can teach you about expository writing, but..." and then we talk about the content. He said he'd be interested in adding Clytemnestra to the Antigone-Praxithea oikos-polis axis, and that he'd read the expanded paper if I wanted to take on some outside work. Maybe I will.

But when?

I have to clean, I have to pack, I desperately want to take a bath but don't have time, as I have to get books for my linguistics paper so that I'll at least be prepared to work on Monday, when I'll have to write the whole thing...fuck, fuck, fuck.

I am running on 140 calories since early linguistics this morning, which is about 46.67 calories per hour, which is roughly equivalent to not enough, which makes me feel good. It's a whole new me: things get busy, I get control-freakish instead of totally out-of-control. Good? I don't know.

I 'fessed up to "history with eating disorders" to Megan (and Miriam, but she wasn't really involved in the conversation at the time) last night. And to Kara a few nights ago. Odd. It came up around the topic of M&Ms. My M&M ritual is disgustingly extensive. Now I feel like I'm bragging. Shut up.

And I have to go to the auditions for Laura's thesis play tonight, and "Buffy," and goodbyes, and returning overdue library books for my old linguistics paper, and eek, eek, eek.

And my room is a disaster zone. For a fucking change.

Blah.

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