It's 8:19am. I am sitting on my couch, already sinking into despair.
I don't know how I am going to finish this semester. I have a 10 page coin project,10 page Foucault project, and a 6-8 page Post Colonial research project.
Each alone wouldn't be so bad, but I have approximately two weeks to do them all.
And on top of that, I am far behind, and my mind is not on my side.
Jessica Nathanson was a hero of mine.
I don't want to get teary and expressive. I can barely talk to my friends about it, much less a faceless blog.
I took Thursday and Friday off, and didn't do anything responsible on Saturday or Sunday. If riding a bike isn't responsible... I guess that counts for physical health.
And now, even though I thought I stepped off the train of emotional turmoil, I think I am still on it.
My counselor at the CCHP the day I found out (before I found out) told me about the train, and how I need to know when to get off, or else I will let it carry me too far. It's nice being on the train. You don't have to ask questions.
Meanwhile, life continues and projects become due.
70 degree highs, a wonderful bicycle, yard sales and a new Netflix account woo me.
Cameron still has Jessica's Men's Studies book. We're going to study it on our own this summer. He told me about an article concerning men in women dominated jobs and how World War II messed everything up.
I love WWII as a turning point...
But then I get sad... because the only reason I can even THINK about Men's Studies and gender roles is because of Jessica Nathanson.
I want to carry on the legacy, but I am weak. My passions are aimless.