Potpourri

That’s what Jeopardy! used to name categories that were just miscellaneous crap. Things that the question (answer?) writers came up with and couldn’t fit into regular categories, like “20th Century Writers” and “The Play’s the Thing” . . .

Huh . . . now I realize that my college career was taken up attending classes whose names were Jeopardy! categories. Interesting.

I totally should have tried out for Jeopardy! when I got through their lottery, kind of by accident. I entered half-joking and actually got the call to come and audition. I didn’t, though, because it would have been my first day at what was then my brand-new job. Which is still my job, albeit not brand-new anymore. So there was a happy ending.

Anyway. So I’m full of all kinds of weird things. Weird thoughts, weird goings-on, nothing good, everything great, but just a big jumbled-up lot of it all.

It’s like, even if you really like peppermints, and meatballs, and peanut butter, you probably wouldn’t like it if you got a big pepperoni-meatball-peanut-butter casserole for dinner, you know what I’m saying?

Yeah. That’s kind of my head.

Well, sort of, anyway. I mean, THAT would just be gross.

That’s kind of what all this is, though.

. . .

People who I remember when they were very small are suddenly and shockingly not any more. I realize that this may have been happening when I wasn’t paying attention, and I further realize that it’s totally okay, but it’s just – wow. I remember picking them up and taking care of them and that feels like it was last week. And now they’re almost that old themselves. It’s a really strange feeling.

It’s cool, though, because they’re just fantastic people. They always were, but they were fantastic little people then. Now they’re just people. And it’s good stuff.

Confidential to D. or J., if you’re reading this. Just be careful about how much you say online, you know? You just don’t want to be putting your name and your town and your birthday and real clear facts that define you out there for anybody to read, because not every anybody is a good person.

Which is why I never tell deep deviant secrets online for creepy nasty people to find out about anonymously.

Nope. Instead, I just do all my deviant acts publicly so nobody has to go looking online for them.

Heh. That reminds me of the line in “Love Actually” where Bill Nighy’s character says, “Kids, don’t buy drugs! Wait until you’re a rock star – then people will give them to you for free!”

Heh. Ahem. Don’t do drugs, either. But okay. Lecture off.

. . .

I am suffering from extreme procrastinosis this semester. It may be because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and this is my second-to-last actual class before I get to my thesis and then am done!done!done! with grad school. It may also be because I have, as yet, only the vaguest concept of what my thesis is going to be about, and that’s a little nerve-racking. It may also be because I have set the bar wicked high when it comes to my thesis, and that is not a little bit daunting. It may also be because this class is required, wicked dull topically and taught by a professor who is phenomenally intelligent but not, shall we say, conversational. It may finally be because I have been DOING THIS FOR SO FREAKING LONG ALREADY THAT I AM LOSING ALL PATIENCE. AND MONEY. AND SOCIAL LIFE. AND INTEREST. AND MOTIVATION.

But then again, it may just be because I am lazy and I would much prefer to paint my toenails than write 2,500 words on morality, politics and the First Amendment.

Wouldn’t you?

. . .

Were I to spend $35, it would not be on a purse that is made from, literally, trash. I get that it’s uber-environmental and all. But still, I just wouldn’t.

. . .

I learned today that an ellipsis (those three dots) is supposed to have spaces in front, behind, and in between. I’ve been doing it wrong my whole life, I guess. I thought it would kind of trail off a sentence like this… when instead it is supposed to look more like this . . . and I never knew. You probably don’t care about that unless you’re a supreme grammar dork. But, then, I am. So there now.

. . .

I got the security deposit back today from the doyenne of Casa Del Gato Con Tres Piernas. Which was promptly deposited in my bank account, and not only provides a lovely thick cushion there upon which my expenditures may fall, but also closes that chapter in my life. Cerrado!

. . .

The Boy is on the phone. Making me feel guilty for procrastinating. Back to work, now. Buenos noches.