Six Problems
1. I'm having trouble communicating lately. Not misunderstood, but the act of engaging with another human being in verbal congress. Parents, family, old friends, AIM buddies, blogs, strangers... everyone, it seems, except for Kristen. I'm at a loss for either small talk or deep conversations. For the past week talking has felt as comfortable as a wool sweater on a sunburn, as effective as spreading butter on toast with a spoon. Why the sudden dip in verbal skills? Have my cracker jack SAT scores withered?
2. I'm addicted to coffee, emotionally and physiologically. After my morning cup, I can't make it until 2 in the afternoon without a headache. I don't like feeling chemically altered, disregarding some reductionist biological perspective of the brain as one big happy neurochemical playground, but I'll eat a box of Ticonderogas before I give up my new bag of Green Mountain Coffee roast.
3. Class scheduling crises again. The rockin' Sosc professor I want, the one who's writing her next anthropological work on Chicago Cubs bleacher culture, has wait-listed me for a section I'll never get. Plus, the roster for my Early American and Frontier Literature class shows that only 8 people have registered out of 25 slots. Is that bad? And I reeeally want to take Renaissance Poetry without rational reason at the same time that I have no rational reason not to audition for Advanced Acting. For chrissake, the break assignment for that class is to make a mix tape from a list of theatrical genres and gestures. Why don't I want to take it?
4. The "minus" in my "A minus" for Intro to Fiction.
5. Little to no rotation radius in any muscle below my hips thanks to cross-country skiing.
6. My obsession with New England kitsch. Why do prints of silos in November, antique seed catalogs, and any over-priced foodstuff made with a)cranberry b)maple or c)pumpkin turn me on so? I will go to grad school in Boston and throw grant money away on day trips to the Berkshires unless I can control my desires by hanging a 12-month calendar of covered bridges above my desk.
Six problems, at least no s(e)x problems?
1. I'm having trouble communicating lately. Not misunderstood, but the act of engaging with another human being in verbal congress. Parents, family, old friends, AIM buddies, blogs, strangers... everyone, it seems, except for Kristen. I'm at a loss for either small talk or deep conversations. For the past week talking has felt as comfortable as a wool sweater on a sunburn, as effective as spreading butter on toast with a spoon. Why the sudden dip in verbal skills? Have my cracker jack SAT scores withered?
2. I'm addicted to coffee, emotionally and physiologically. After my morning cup, I can't make it until 2 in the afternoon without a headache. I don't like feeling chemically altered, disregarding some reductionist biological perspective of the brain as one big happy neurochemical playground, but I'll eat a box of Ticonderogas before I give up my new bag of Green Mountain Coffee roast.
3. Class scheduling crises again. The rockin' Sosc professor I want, the one who's writing her next anthropological work on Chicago Cubs bleacher culture, has wait-listed me for a section I'll never get. Plus, the roster for my Early American and Frontier Literature class shows that only 8 people have registered out of 25 slots. Is that bad? And I reeeally want to take Renaissance Poetry without rational reason at the same time that I have no rational reason not to audition for Advanced Acting. For chrissake, the break assignment for that class is to make a mix tape from a list of theatrical genres and gestures. Why don't I want to take it?
4. The "minus" in my "A minus" for Intro to Fiction.
5. Little to no rotation radius in any muscle below my hips thanks to cross-country skiing.
6. My obsession with New England kitsch. Why do prints of silos in November, antique seed catalogs, and any over-priced foodstuff made with a)cranberry b)maple or c)pumpkin turn me on so? I will go to grad school in Boston and throw grant money away on day trips to the Berkshires unless I can control my desires by hanging a 12-month calendar of covered bridges above my desk.
Six problems, at least no s(e)x problems?
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