Seriously, I had no idea this would be difficult at all. I figured, stuff will happen, I'll write it down for posterity's sake, and then move on. I mean, I write all the time, no big deal. Correction: I wrote all the time. Now I make charts. And study. And take notes, which is a lot like writing only really sad. School has sucked the life force straight out of me, and as a result I have no energy left to entertain you with my hilarious nursing school shenanigans (there are none, by the way; it's completely and horrifyingly dull). The kind of literary lucidness I'm experiencing at the moment is the result of a few days of Thanksgiving vacation, where I've done nothing but watch period piece British mini-series and eat pumpkin pie. I bought a Swell Season record. It's really good. I forgot about music there for a while.
Tomorrow I begin preparations for Monday's quiz, and this temporary "coming up for air" will be over and I will descend once again into the lightless depths of academia and medicopia. Now I'm just making words up. I return again to the surface in two and a half weeks, at which point I will be one semester and two crossed fingers away from graduating.
And if I gain any more weight, I swear I am going to... oh crap, I'll probably just have more Oreos. What's the point, anyway.
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