the world's a mess and you're my only cure.

inspired by the perfectly-fall weather lately and my walk home today (during which i looped "eau de bedroom dancing," mmhm), i decided it would be a decent close to a rather bad (in a blah-mundane grey way, not a laughably horrid one) set of hours to make it home and start one of those silly love letter type mix tapes for j. i have pounds of work to do--midterms week doesn't mean studying more, which would be a welcome thing for me really; it means midpoint progress reports for papers, that sort of thing. plus scheduling is this week, and i always make that more nerve-wracking than it needs to be, mostly because yes, it brings up all of those ugly persistent hard issues about why the hell i majored in what i did and where the line i draw lies with regard to love and (/versus) ambition or practicality (becoming in my eyes ever more aligned really with "being a wuss and doing what unimaginative people say"), and my dad's visiting as a spurofthemoment piece, and i can't focus this time of year as usual (not a flimsy excuse, an open and justthere admission of weakness)--but that is still the best thing to do. that and cooking. i think i grow better, my eyes get clearer and i smile with more ease, when i eat decently. to be fed isn't that far off from feeling cared about in some way. and i find more and more that makes all the difference. yeah, i'm a baby monkey that's for sure.

...besides, the day wasn't all lost (though...). i read a fucking fantastic essay this afternoon that bowled me over in my little seat in the cathedral. ! if i can find a way to pinpoint its location online and direct, i will add it here. it was. g'ah.