![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grammargirlJust checking out the new post-by-e-mail feature thingy. Seems pretty
nifty.
Today has been a terribly unproductive day, which is what happens when I
have minimal day-to-day work and a lot of big projects due at a hazy
future date, which means I should be working on them pretty regularly but
don't.
Work is going really, really slowly tonight. It would probably go faster
if I used the time to do reading or write my workshop homework for
tomorrow or whatever, but somehow I'm sitting here dorking around on
livejournal yet again. I don't know what my problem is lately.
Andy-who-used-to-live-across-the-hall-from-me loaned me a book a couple
days ago. It is very abstract, and depressing, and hard to follow unless
you're in the mood for Abstract, Depressing Literature, which I am not.
Instead, I think I'm going to walk to the grad library after I get off
work and check out Dreams Underfoot, by Charles de Lint. Because...
I dunno, it's been recommended all over the place of late, and I need a
book to lose myself in for a while.
When I talk to people about whatever book I'm currently reading outside of
class, they frequently reply "Oh, I wish I had time to read for fun."
Their voices are always wistful and somehow accusatory, like how dare I
have time to read for fun when there are so many Important Things
to accomplish? What these people don't understand is that I don't read for
fun, or even really for pleasure. I read because it keeps me sane. I read
because if I didn't make time to lose myself in other worlds, I would not
be able to function in this one. Why are so few people able to understand
that?
A downside to posting from e-mail: no cute little mood icon thingies. So I
guess I will just do this the old-fashioned way and say that my mood is
currently "a little bit lonely, a little bit lost, and pretty damn bored.
Also, I miss daylight savings time.
The end.
nifty.
Today has been a terribly unproductive day, which is what happens when I
have minimal day-to-day work and a lot of big projects due at a hazy
future date, which means I should be working on them pretty regularly but
don't.
Work is going really, really slowly tonight. It would probably go faster
if I used the time to do reading or write my workshop homework for
tomorrow or whatever, but somehow I'm sitting here dorking around on
livejournal yet again. I don't know what my problem is lately.
Andy-who-used-to-live-across-the-hall-from-me loaned me a book a couple
days ago. It is very abstract, and depressing, and hard to follow unless
you're in the mood for Abstract, Depressing Literature, which I am not.
Instead, I think I'm going to walk to the grad library after I get off
work and check out Dreams Underfoot, by Charles de Lint. Because...
I dunno, it's been recommended all over the place of late, and I need a
book to lose myself in for a while.
When I talk to people about whatever book I'm currently reading outside of
class, they frequently reply "Oh, I wish I had time to read for fun."
Their voices are always wistful and somehow accusatory, like how dare I
have time to read for fun when there are so many Important Things
to accomplish? What these people don't understand is that I don't read for
fun, or even really for pleasure. I read because it keeps me sane. I read
because if I didn't make time to lose myself in other worlds, I would not
be able to function in this one. Why are so few people able to understand
that?
A downside to posting from e-mail: no cute little mood icon thingies. So I
guess I will just do this the old-fashioned way and say that my mood is
currently "a little bit lonely, a little bit lost, and pretty damn bored.
Also, I miss daylight savings time.
The end.
