25 September 2001 - 9:26 p.m.

Note to self: never allow time to write a Shakespeare paper in the morning. You WILL oversleep. Just stay up all fucking night and be done with it.

After two skipped classes, a stomachache, about five minutes in which I believed there to be an intruder in the garage, 10 minutes n which I believed a bat to be lurking in my apartment, and 2 hours more sleep than I was supposed to allow myself, my Shakspeare paper was done. With an hour to spare. Go me.

But why do I have to make every big assignment into such a fucking epic event? I wrote a decent paper in around 8 hours, total. Why couldn't I have spread that out over the weekend, so as to keep me from getting an ulcer and racing against the clock like some kind of pathetic contestant on Supermarket Sweep? When am I going to get my shit together?

I actually didn't turn in an assignment as a result of a missed class. I realized as I was walking there that I had not typed up a proposal and preliminary bibliography for the film paper to end all film papers. No wonder I can't get any work done. I am a big old narcissist. But at least I can write a mean film paper. The proposal is getting later by the minute. I could do it, but I'm working on something for tomorrow instead. I just need to not be down to the wire on something. My professor will forgive me. I'm the only person who isn't too bored to talk in his class. He needs nerdy little suck-ups like me.

My thesis advisor had some nice things to say today. Even his criticism cracked me up: "You've got this kind of old maiden aunt voice in parts of this. Don't be so afraid to speak up. I know you, and you're ideas, and I think you're okay, kiddo." Did I mention that my thesis advisor is like 78? Everyone should have a 78-year-old thesis advisor, they're so damn cute.

The only person beyond him I saw to day was my friend Drew, whom I ran into picking up some EasyMac to see me through the home strech of my Shakespeare paper. He was all dressed up for the Technical Opportunities Conference, which is where lots of companies come to campus and try to hire people that are nothing like me. I told him he looked nice.

"Thanks," he said, "but the TOC is so obnoxious. I'm so tired of selling myself that I had to come in here and buy something."

And as I type this, reliving that moment, the song "Dyer Mak'r" drifts into my head. I think that speaks volumes about today. Well, not really. But I'm sick of speaking volumes, so I'm gonna defer to Led Zeppelin until tomorrow.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: