On my "days off," during Dave's furlough Fridays, or on a lazy Saturday or Sunday, I either head off to a nearby coffeshop or drive 20 minutes to UC Davis to use their library. I am supposed to be writing. Furiously. With passion and determination. With my eyes on the PhD prize.
Instead I flip through a biography or book of criticism. Underline a sentence or two. Open up my Word doc. Think about what word would be a good word to write. Write. Delete. Write. Then spend the next 10 - 15 minutes on facebook, thinking with much more concentration about how to appropriately word an update I'll never end up writing.
Right now I'm looking at the cutest little black chiuaua-type dog with toenails painted pink. She of course is owned by a tatted rock-abilly chick, the type of girl I used to think was badass when I first moved to northern California.
2 comments:
I could see seriously getting over thinking that kind of chick (and dude equivalent) is badass, what with their saturation in Santa Cruz...
Yes, saturation to the point of invisibility. If that's possible--I'm not so good with science.
Hang in there, sugar.
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