I could live without this

My room basically looks like it was ransacked by a tribe of marauding warlords. I can't walk through it anymore, I have to shimmy along the wall until I can jump to my bed.

The floor is littered with umbrellas, stuffed animals, knitting needles, and cds, but most of the stuff on the floor is the detritus of research. There are several hundred pages of photocopies, forty library books, assorted notebooks, and pages upon pages of bibliographic citations. Some of which, in my brilliance, I have printed twice, some of which are just scraps of papers with random call numbers scribbled frantically.

I keep having nightmares. I dream that I need a writing sample to apply to a job at the library. Of course, neither do I have one that's suitable but I can't even find the unsuitable papers. In the distance a librarian shrieks at me while I apologize stupidly and fumble through the soup of research materials that litter my floor. I dream that the library is full of wolves and dogs and other small animals. Sometimes I just can't sleep at all, because my brain is left chattering away about medieval science or Afro-Brazilian botanical knowledge.

I haven't done laundry in several weeks. This means I have to wear my paisley leopard print underwear (it came in a set, alright?) because there aren't many others left. It's very classy.

I'm really sick of this.

2001-12-03, I could live without this

before / after

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