Is there any other phrase better designed to cause quenched, beaten down, silenced resistance to flare back up in a blaze of semi-impotent fury? After I (admittedly) got my ass whooped in the wee hours of the morning earlier today, I was going to stop stealing someone’s knife and lay off with the permanent marker drawings on the back of his neck. When I woke up after my two-hour nap after said fight unable to lift my arms above my head or type/write for more than ten seconds without needing a break, I was going to stop using Luke as my punching bag just so I could stop having my…

“Fat people have opinions too“. Not a diatribe against discrimination of fat folks (although those are fun to read, too), but something so much better–an account of a woman’s development of a self-assurance and self-confidence that is hard and long in coming. It’s something I still don’t have. I still can’t look at myself in the mirror without giving myself a critical eye–how much more weight I need to lose, how many hours I need to spend in the sun to get my skin to be where I want it to be, etc., etc. I still flinch and twitch in overreaction and hypersensitivity to physical contact–my body is not one…

…when the guy you know with a truck is going home this weekend. And when the seats in your car don’t lay down. I may very well be storing this damn deck (dismantled) in my room for a few days until Matt gets back with his truck and we can move it into storage. This thing has to be out of the sellers’ room this weekend, and we’re taking it down Friday afternoon. Hope Bridget doesn’t mind… Damn, damn, damn this week sucks monkey balls.

So today I wrote on Luke with a marker. Or attempted to. This resulted in a scuffle in which I found myself being sat on and attacked with a dry-erase marker. I shoulda gone more deliberately for the back of his knees, since I lacked the advantage of weight… At any rate, when I was able to come up for air, my right wrist was rather bruised, and I had marker on my face and arm. Shortly after, I noticed that both wrists and hands (where I’d been grabbed, not where I’d been written on) were itching furiously and turning red and swollen. I had to wash all the way…

I got the damn research position. “What research position?” you ask. The one I carefully avoided mentioning in the event that it didn’t work out, or there wasn’t enough money in the grant, or, or, or, anything. But I fuggin’ got it. What money the NSF grant doesn’t allow (the money is being split between me and another student), the Chemistry Dept. (headed by my current chemistry prof, which may have gone some way in my favor) will provide such that I get the full salary stated on the NSF grant. Oh my friggin’ god. So, I will return to Charlotte the last weekend of May (for all the people…