we just got back from the co-op, where i bought ingredients for the corn & black bean salad i love to make. i'm going to bring it tomorrow to the poetry workshop for our potluck dinner. yeah. off to the kitchen to cook good food. i'll come back later, though.
...from one of my favorite books growing up, Noisy Nora by Rosemary Wells. "and they didn't hear a sound, but a tra la la from Jack..."
we're planning this excursion to nifty fifties for ice cream and treats. it's funny to try to be writing when there are actual people in the other room who i could be hanging out with. and i'm changing my clothes. it reminds me of high school, wanting to look cool for going out, even if it was just for coffee or whatever. i spent so much more time on my image in high school, it seems...
yeah. gonna go. change clothes. and eat ice cream.
so now it's technically tomorrow, but once again i'll bend the rules a little. days like this i wonder why i write in a journal, web or otherwise. is it becoming just force of habit? i've never been good at writing about the events of my life in a diary sort of way. i guess that's why i would always call it a journal... it seemed to give me more freedom to write whatever i wanted to.
it's so odd to realize that my year here is pretty much over. i'm done with work, and i'm leaving in a little less than a week. it's a good feeling to be done, but at the same time sort of sad. it's been a great year. that's what i realized as i was leaving my geology final, the sun steaming and streaming and everything bright and humid from the tiny burst of rain. it's been great. it's so hard to realize endings, at least for me. that this is the end of my sophomore year of college. wow. i don't feel like i'm ready, sometimes, and other times i really do. it's that same feeling of time... i've been here forever, but i just got here yesterday...
i get a sick nervousness in my stomach when i think about leaving, about endings. living with talia, aryani, allegra, jess, and maya this year has been so wonderful. and i can't believe it's going to be over.
that's the trouble with packing, too. the fact that i can't bear the end result-- a naked room that's just depressing. the other problem is my endless fascination with stuff. especially my stuff. so that as i pack i try on every piece of clothing, read every scrap of paper... i'm so endlessly entertained by doing so... especially when it also serves as procrastination. which i love.
what's funny is to be saving this as i write. theoretically someone could be reading it before i'm even finished with it... such an odd concept because i really don't feel like this is writing for other people. i mean, i assume at least a few will glance at it, but essentially i'm writing it for myself...
i'm having trouble concentrating on writing. so goodnight.