I got a great email entitled "HOLY SHIT YOUR ART ROCKS," which told me to "keep kicking ass."
Perhaps RO has fried my brain. I can only seem to think in sentences just so long ... I suppose it is for the best that this long weekend must come to an end. Resuming normal life will stop me from playing RO every damn waking minute.
Right now, I feel like running around, pawing at my temples, and throwing myself at walls, all the while gurgling and snarling random phrases of gibberish. I want to randomly assault small pop cans and stomp on something excellently squishy. I'm anxious about something, something that hasn't been dealt with.
Potential Candidates:
Italian. I'm always stressed about Italian. Why am I so scared now?
Logic. I can't remember how to do truth tables for these problems. Who knew that a simple () could make it so scary?
Ceramics. Will I get it all done in time? I don't even remember what the deadline is.
Museum. I've been assigned a research project on a dude I don't know and who I don't give a damn about.
My Room. Such a forking mess. Must clean.
Myself. Am I really what I think I am? What constitutes a valuable goal? What does it matter? Do I matter? In what scope will my life and actions play out?
Avevo, avevi, aveva. Avevamo, avevate, avevano. I can form you and recognize you, but I cannot use you. I can't keep your meaning on my mind. Can't fit you.
