TO REMAKE THE YOUNG FLYER

Feeling much better today. Robitussin is really good for treating colds. Who knew? (Well, my mom did. When I called my parents to complain about being sick, they were all, "What's wrong with you? Go get some cold medicine!" and I was all, "Oh, right.") Anyway, I got a lot of sleep last night, and while I still feel kind of woozy, at least I'm not having those full-body sneezes I was experiencing yesterday. I got a lot of writing done today at work, which is certainly kind of rare. And, with any luck, I'm going to have a clean room (and house) by tomorrow at this time. Convalescing in a filthy house is really no fun at all. You need to have a clean kitchen with a kettle of water boiling on the stove, and a neat little pile of magazines next to your bed, to even begin to feel better. Well. That's my opinion, anyway.

It looks like I may take a trip to NYC over midsemester break. I know, you're wondering if/when I'll get sick of taking midsem trips to a city that always breaks my heart. And with an old friend who also has a talent for breaking my heart, after a fashion. It's a difficult decision, or at least that's what I say now. I can bet you dollars on the dollar that when it comes time to make this decision next week, I'll throw a few t-shirts into my backpack and hit the road. Usually, traveling provides the solution to a problem that has been on my mind for a long time, especially travel to that diasporic hellpit, New York. Even though I've given up my desire to live there years ago, it still has something. Fuck, maybe I still want to live there. There is a kind of magic that doesn't fade.

The chicks are back, yeah.

I'M A LITTLE BIRD THROUGH YOUR WINDOW

Being sick is awful. I feel achy & sweaty & sneezy, and I'm broke, and I have work for the next three days. So, don't expect anything other than complaining out of this corner for a few days.

P.S. If you like taking care of whiny sick people, you should give me a call!

PICK UP YOUR PICKAXE AND REND!

So, remember yesterday? I slept through two alarms and didn't wake up in time for work. I feel pretty shitty about it, I mean, I would be angry if the person with the shift after mine just didn't show up. Oh well. I really wasn't in my right mind. And that was some of the most delicious sleep ever.

I have a little bit of a sniffle and a little bit of a cough; I'm going right over to Sree's after work to get some food, which will hopefully buoy me up with vitamins and stuff.

Andrew's first piece in the City Paper hits the stands today; I can't wait to read it! I also can't wait to get out of the basement. Shoo. My nose is cold.

I WANT YOUR SKULL! I NEED YOUR SKULL!

So. Some things I've done in the last 24 hours:
+wrote three papers
+smoked an entire pack of rolling tobacco
+stayed up all night
+attended all of my classes
+avoided getting into petty arguments with classmates, potentially brought on by exhaustion
+took a 45-minute nap
+memorized and performed a poem for class

Some things I've eaten in the last 24 hours:
+three diet cokes
+one diet Pepsi
+three coffees
+Cheetos
+Fritos
+Fritos Flavor Twists
+Croissants
+turkey sandwich
+Oreo smoothie
+Buffalo chicken sandwich
+I think there was also some water in there . . .

Some things I have not done but really should very soon
+go home
+brush teeth
+sleep, for fuck's sake
+stop complaining about doing so much work because it's freaking CMU and this is how we live, you know.
+take a shower and change shirts because I am so smelly as fuck
+cuddle.

15 pages of text in twelve hours, plus substantial fucking around time. Shit. This is what you're supposed to do during finals week, not the first month of fall semester. I need to get my shit sorted.

BLOOM BLOOM, BABY, CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP B-BEEP BEEP

A lot of prospective students are interviewing these days, in their cute little pressed shirts and leather blazers, but what must they think of me, trying to light a cigarette and brush Cheeto crumbs off of my black hooded sweatshirt? I would like to pull them aside and say: "The black hooded sweatshirt is the uniform of the damned. I hope you get into this school, I think you will like it, but I also hope you are comfortable with third-day hair and caffeine headaches, because my life is your future. And by the time you are brushing Cheeto crumbs off of yourself on a Sunday afternoon between writing papers and then writing more of them, I will be a career girl living in a cheaper place in Bloomfield, a neighborhood you won't even know to visit until you're a sophomore, and I will spend my time watching my money pile up and going to shows and driving my car and getting real haircuts, like the kind you pay for. I won't be working on Sunday, unless I'm working on the crossword puzzle in my jammies or copying my zine at the library. I will have, in other words, graduated and grown up. But take a good look, sweet thing, because four years of this are headed your way." You know, I really should have said something.