outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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I'd like some cheese with this whine

It's a gorgeous day. The wind is shooting snow at the ground in a flurry of surprise attacks. Now from the north, now from the south, now I hit you this way, you'll never expect me from over *here*. I wonder what it says about me that I appreciate this violence in weather so much. I love hard rain and loud thunder and whipping wind and towering ocean waves. It's definitive and strong. Balmy days are nice, but they say nothing for the power of nature.

I'd really like to see a little Paula Poundstone. Never mind the fact that I have both the shows they play on Comedy Central committed to my long-term memory. I haven't seen either in a long time. I know she's been in trouble lately but she's still funny, dammit.

Apologies to Plastron and Giallo are in order, because I'm a big dork and messed things up. Our many plans became no plans. Especially for me. Not even my sister came over. I was ok with all of this, because I had much to do, but it's still pretty lame. But...my sister's audition at Emerson apparently went well so I guess that's good. I would have liked to take her out for dinner after, but for some reason, my mother was anti this idea. And she didn't want to come over. Ought I to be offended?

No, because I never bothered to clean, so she actually saved me some grief.

Well, it turns out that five potatoes is too many potatoes for six servings of chowder. I thought it would be ok -- I had three little ones and two big ones. But it WASN'T ok. I had too many potatoes to fit in my frying pan, so they had to be cooked in shifts. And the chowder is overwhelmingly potato-y, instead of clammy. And yay though my intentions were good, my idea to substitute two cups of milk for two cups of cream were not. I guess it really does make a difference. The same goes for substituting fat-free sour cream for full-fat sour cream in your sour cream coffee cake. Both of my recipes turned on pretty good, but they just weren't as good as I wanted them. They were decent, but I was expecting delicious.

This E&M class will be the bane of my next four months. Prepare to hear much complaining about it. I'll get you started: my Tuesdays last till 7. My Wednesdays last till 10. My Thursdays last till 8.

wooooooooe.

I'll be even more pissed if I'm staying at work that late and still not finding time for my homework and labs. Nah, pissed isn't the word. Panic-stricken and losing hair.

And I don't have hair to spare.

One of the things the satellite looked at this past week is called Maddalena's Cloud. Such a pretty name; I'm intrigued. I'm pulling up the picture of it right now, although I'll doubt I'll be able to see anything besides a few bright pixels here and there, and a lot of background noise. Damn, I was right. That's too bad. I'll have to look into it more...oh. So it wasn't named after somebody's daughter or sweetheart, it was named after the guy who found it, Ron Maddalena. That's a bit disappointing. But it's an interesting thing nonetheless -- in my opinion. It's a large cloud of gas in our galaxy that's not creating stars. Large gas clouds are the birthplaces of stars, the likes of which you can see in the image on my archives page. It's unusual for a large cloud to not be investing its energy in stars. Maddalena's cloud is either very young, or the remains of something that blew itself apart. It's life and death out there, folks. The universe is alive.

Alive, alive, alive.

I'm getting cranky, bored, and tired, and beginning to think things like the following:

Stop taking yourself so seriously. Don't be silly, I'm telling this to you, not myself.

You're all nuts. Everyone is crazy 'cept me.

If I *don't* take a mallet to the walls around my head, somebody might walk off with my soul. And that would be a bad thing.

I can't believe I left my can opener here when I knew damn well that I was going to need it to open cans of clams. I don't like having to ask my landlady for things.

Gasp! I was just thinking that I should get over it, there are only six more weeks of winter. We can't in our right minds say that April is still wintertime. And then I thought, there are only six more weeks till April! In six more weeks, my lease will be up, I'll know if I'll be teaching next year, and if so, where. Provided I actually submit this *&^$% application. Provided I actually write these *&^$% essays.

Time is, in fact, running out. If I don't get into TfA, I have to find a new apartment. Or commit myself to another year in this one. Fuck! But if I do get into TfA, and I sign a new lease in April...I'll either have to pay rent in two places on a teacher's salary, or find a subletter. Having sublet an apartment one summer, I already know that it's a pain in the ass trying to figure out who owes what for utilities for the time they were there. Ok, so if I sign a six month lease instead of a full year, I'll be paying rent through September. Oy. I better start looking into this. Maybe I should try to arrange something with my present landlady. Maybe I should not worry about this until I've submitted my *&^$% application.

(sigh) To think that I was expecting to be checking out apartments with Rob on the North Shore by this time. Ah, but things change.

10:11 a.m. - 2002-02-11

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