Oh, Dorothy

"God save me from my friends - I can protect myself from my enemies."
-Marshall de Villars

I usually keep The Prayer of Saint Francis on my bedside table and give it a good once over before turning in. But more recently, I've had the growing urge to punch Saint Francis in the face, canonized though it is. ("'Pardon' this, asshat!")

Dorothy Parker may be his replacement. I'd quote her here, but she's such a jilted little body. Perhaps in happier times. I'm fast reaching my melancholia saturation level (for the hour. But sometimes I'm like Cingular and get unlimited nights and weekends.)

Fighting the gremlens of slack jawed glumhood by keeping "busy." Or should I say "fidget-y"? I'm certainly not being productive. I think I sat in Jordan Hall for three hours and "studied" yesterday night. It's amazing the lack of Japanese one can learn in that time. Truly.

...

I think it's time for a vacation. My mom's gone this weekend. Maybe I'll run off somewheres. Monastery? St. Louis? I have questions about the Finnish I'd like to see resolved before my death. I hear the weather in Somalia is nice this time of year.

Things just aren't quite fitting as they should. Very strange contrast to last week, when I was still on schedule to Cure World Hunger by 28. I'd like my old skin back, thankyouverymuch. (And a pony.) But there's "nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so," yes? Well, I'll just say so and hope it's true. (But I do think it would be "good" for me to have a pony. I'd name it Humphrey. Or Ethel.)