Things: they are all right! Currently I am in Little City procrastinating on my James Joyce mini-essay. I am feeling more or less self-satisfied as of the moment, because now I have officially finished Joyce’ A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man — of the more excruciating works I have read. Also, I recently discovered that there is only one word in the English language that changes its pronounciation when capitalized. (’Polish.’)

Camping last Saturday night was overall excellent. My favorite Rachel Sibley did some impressive cooking with a piece of tractor machinery and an open fire. I made some spatulas in the nick of time out of aluminum foil and a stick and felt very woodsy, which was definitely not justified. Also, there was some impressive left-handed guitar playing. We almost perished when the sleeping bags and blankets all got soaked with dew (due to a lack of foresight on my part). The day was saved through intense huddling. Success! I woke up five hours later, feeling like I had misplaced my face.

I need more marketable skills. This is a thought I have periodically. Perhaps I should learn to do full-body neuromuscular trigger-point-therapy massage! That will make me friends.

Mere seconds ago I was the victim of the creepiest phone call known to man. This phone call was not only creepy but also ingenious: the perpetrator made use of a phone relay service. It would have been even more clever to pretend to be a phone relay operator, but I think that part at least was legit, since the number used is owned by the same company that offers a free phone relay service. At any rate, that was unpleasant. I pity phone relay operators so very much.

Do I wear my politics on my sleeve too much? There is a fine line between being passionate and being obnoxious. However, I think I would rather be obnoxious than dull.

While rereading entries, it occurred to me that my writing style tends to be terribly repetitive. Specifically: overuse of “which,” accidental parallelism, etc. This is particularly disasterous now because I think I might possibly consider doing Nanowrimo, maybe. It’s not a very good idea, yet an oddly enticing one.

Everything is good. I have finally learned how to set aside social obligations for work (sort of) and as a result feel all alone. I can’t win!

My most recent foray homewards netted me a lot of applesauce, which is excellent. I also managed to lose my ID, which is unfortunate, but the applesauce and Earl Grey provide some consolation.

The Mock Trial thing is going well but keeps getting more intimidating. I like these people, which is a relief. I also applied for the Analecta today, which may have been a bad idea.

Link of the moment: Harriet Miers reads up.

Finally, it’s scarf weather! There are probably other things I should be excited about more than this, but scarves: I love them!

At Westwood yesterday an old teacher laughed at me for mentioning a goal for “when I grow up.” I suppose it is strange to be 17-almost-18 and consider myself not grown up, but I feel like I have got so far to go.

Home again. I visited Westwood, too, which mostly did good things for my ego. I’d forgotten how oppressive high school was. Familial things were mostly comforting, like playing Memory with my little brother (who is very good at it for three years old) and Darjeeling tea. We watched Autumn Spring, which is Czech and delightful, about old people. I always have a certain aversion to good movies — initially, I try to talk my mom into watching terrible, junk-food movies that I later complain about — but she tends to win out and then I’m glad she did.

Right now I’m in a strange half-awake state that lends itself well to looking at stuff by Luke Chuieh and scattered thoughts. I love this laptop so very much. Andrew Jackson still makes me angry. Generally, though, things continue to work out, which leads me to believe that catastrophe is imminent.