Faulkner, sandals, paper, poems, and poop

Time enough for a short post tonight. I’ve hit that point I hit every semester, the one-month-to-go mark, at which it seems like everything is piling up and I start to hyperventilate. Compared to last semester, though, it’s so not bad, but still, that feeling is hard to shake. I have to present a paper I have not really started in less than a month. Seems ludicrous to be that worried, especially when I have started, and actually have a fairly good idea of what I’m going to write about, but I figure if you’re reading this blog you have at least a passing interest in my particular neuroses, so I supply them.

There, done stressing.

Reading Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying again, and even though some of Faulkner’s idiosyncrasies annoy me in little ways, I still absolutely love the drunken genius. I don’t think the guy had a normal human brain. I love that he looked around at his place in the world and found that it was that rich of a mine for stories–he found his particular writing niche and mined it until it was dry. I love it; it’s weird, it’s poignant, it’s funny, and it’s just so damn good. The dude seriously wrote on a different plane of existence. Almost makes me want to open Absalom, Absalom! again.

Working slowly through Todd Boss’ Yellowrocket, which is actually the way I think it’s supposed to be taken in. Taking a cue from J, I lay in bed last night and read a few of the poems to myself before turning out the light. They taste pretty good, those poems.

What else…the weather today was comfortable enough to wear my hoodie and my sandals, which is my preferred outfit, or perhaps ensemble. I’ll never be a fashionista, but I’m content with being comfy. I’ve had the same pair of sandals for the past three years (I bought them on my last day at my first college), and they were finally to the point that wearing them was actively bad for my already terrible feet. So, with K’s encouragement, I tossed them into the dumpster and bought new ones. They’re not quite the same, but they don’t hurt my feet and they don’t smell like old sweaty leather.

Gave a residence hall tour today and one of the floors smelled like poop. Which was because the toilets had backed up and were leaking black ooze that smelled like rotten eggs and other stuff you can imagine. We peaked into the show room and then plugged our noses and hurried out. Good thing each of them had already decided to come to school at Morris, and also that floor was the last we visited, so they didn’t have to spend the remainder of the tour in apprehension that the other floors might smell equally putrid.

Going to read a little more Faulkner tonight, maybe more Boss, and then turn in. Need to get up early tomorrow morning and start this research paper in earnest. Or, you know, check Twitter obsessively.