Is it rude to put on your pajamas before your boyfriend arrives past 11:30 because the two of you want to spend the day together tomorrow and he has worked at night at week and so you've been forced to meet clandestinely on backwards dates that start with sleeping? Should it really be dependent on whether I look cute in pajamas or not?

All the internet does is convince me that everyone lives lovely lives where they are lovely writers that eat lovely foods and all I do is get sick everywhere from benadryl and apply anti-itch cream to my spider bite that's in the worst spot.

I'm going to turn into spider woman at any moment and I don't even like super heroes. I like slightly melancholy ordinary people.

I went to the doctor yesterday for my spider bite because it wasn't getting smaller, just more red and it was starting to look like a bulls-eye rash, which really isn't a big deal unless it's a tick bite, but it still freaked me out enough to call the doctor. The doctor confirmed that it is in fact probably a spider bite due to the fact that it's not healing quickly, there are entrance wounds, and I didn't pull a tick out of my skin. She told me to take some benadryl, which I did once I was in bed for the day. I woke up in the middle of the night and examined my spider bite and the red area had reduced in size, but not very much so I took some more benadryl and now I feel all groggy and incapable of doing anything and it's sort of horrible.

Wednesdays that feel like Mondays. I'm going to clean out the refrigerator.

I have a spider bite on my butt cheek and mostly all I can think is OMG THERE WAS A SPIDER ON MY BUTT CHEEK THAT'S REALLY CLOSE TO OTHER AREAS THAT I NEVER WANT SPIDERS ON EVER.

There is something about German scholars that people find intriguing. I think it has to do with the big words, strung together little words to make something whole. People always say it sounds angry, but I always think that the only thing these people must have heard in German are speeches by Hitler, which certainly are not at all representative of the German consciousness at present, but yet it persists, this fascination with people who study German. In White Noise, the main character has created a Hitler studies program and it seems as if there must be some reason that it's wrong, make him anti-semitic or racist, but instead he just trips over words, cannot speak German. I thought of this because I am reading a short story by David Foster Wallace, Say Never and one of the characters has written a book on Germany before Hitler, the Weimar republic and I have to wonder if the Weimar republic is equally as interesting on it's own or especially interesting because it preceded Hitler. But I don't think most people study German because of this fascination with Hitler or WWII or anything like that. It's just something that happens on the tongue, alluring in it's own way. Like the character in White Noise, I struggle to speak German. In my head, the sentences flow effortlessly. Often I think things in German, translating instantaneously, which one would think was a sign of fluency, but I am nowhere near fluent or even adequate. This brings up the question, how does anyone decide to study anything? Is deciding to study German like deciding to study American history? At least with language that are certain sounds associated with it to draw one in, but in telling someone you study Spanish, no one will utter garbled noises and pretend they have a grasp of the words. This has happened to me several times with German and I always laugh, but it's not very funny, not really. I would not like my own voice to be made fun of in such a way, though the longer I stay in Minnesota the more my voice reflects it. In one of my favorite German films, Gegen die Wand, a Turkish-German man says, "I know all the German I need; ein Bier, bitte." Indeed this was my own approach when living in Austria, but still it seems inescapable, like I was drawn to it, the way the characters in these stories are.

I like to read silly articles about weight loss and diets online and they frequently talk about how Europeans are thinner and healthier and I think I am the only person in the world who went to Europe and gained a bunch of weight and then came back to the U.S. and lost it all and started training for triathlons.

Drinking tea and eating English muffins in bed while it rained would be so much nicer if I didn't have to go out into the rain shortly.

Do people actually have sex under the covers in real life? Doesn't it get hot in under there?

I get so lazy on Sundays. All I do is lie around and by the end of the day it feels terrible. I would like it to be Tuesday now.

I may or may not cry more when it rains and I am sitting at home alone in my underwear.


That might've just happened, but now I'm going to the Tap.

I'm supposed to go meet Blair and Ayanthi at Starbucks, but instead I am sitting here, not yet dressed from the shower and a torrential downpour began and my window is open and I am really enjoying sitting here alone.

I've had my body my whole life and I don't walk correctly or stand correctly. I don't know how this happens.

On Sunday I had a dream that I was searching for apartments online and then I woke up and searched for apartments online. Last night I dreamt that my foot was broken and I was in France with William trying to climb a tower and communicate with French people. This morning I am going to the physical therapist to get help with my endless foot pain. Perhaps when I nap this afternoon I will dream I am swimming and then going out to dinner.

Lately I've been thinking about this prose poem by Sarah Manguso (my most read blog post ever is a link to a Sarah Manguso prose poem and this is appropriate) called The First Time and written under the title I wrote, "I wish this were my life right now." At the time I didn't feel lonely, but maybe I did as it was the winter and I was at Knox trying to write poetry and speak German and figure out Dylan Thomas. This poem made me feel lonely though and now I feel as if it is an appropriate descriptor of things. I will put the prose poem here, though I am always sort of uncomfortable doing that, similar to stealing music from the internet.

The First Time

The first time I saw sunlight strike the each in columns I was amazed it had been possible all along. I wrote down the date and time as proof so it would stay true. And I thought I couldn't peel away after the kiss and ever be the same, but as it turned out there was no sudden rescrambling on the molecular level. O let me not be changed! I would exclaim. There are many ways of knowing, as anyone who has studied epistemology call tell you. Watching a beautiful back is enough to do it. M. says he's call at ten and calls five minutes before. Love? All that remains is to write the beautiful fiction.

I have found an apartment (assuming they don't reject my application) and I have signed up for classes and now my largest anxieties reside in moving and leaving things. By things of course I mean people. And really, you probably know who I mean.

I once knew someone who smoked a lot of weed and described everything as "dank" even though dank means cold and wet.

I can't stop looking at pictures of tacos.

I really like this song. Lying around feeling all despairing and stuff about things. Mostly about finding housing and how stressful it is. I feel guilty for not enjoying the sunshine.

I don't know how to find a house in Alabama and it's stressing me out endlessly.

I really like this silly tournament to find the best MFA program in the country, particularly because Bama is number 2.

I am not letting awful people ruin something I enjoy. At least I will tell myself this repeatedly in hopes that I will not let awful people ruin something I enjoy.

I think civil rights are really important (and I mean this to encompass all possible civil rights issues), but after that I think bikers rights are really important.

I'm happy that Obama announced that he thinks gay people should be allowed to get married, but I feel like that's a little obvious and everyone should just think that all the time and am tired of it being a discussion, when I don't understand the problem in the first place. There's that whole religious thing, but anyone with half a brain knows there's a bunch of stuff in the bible that no one listens to, and if I know that and I've been an atheist my entire life, it should make sense that people who are actually religious know that. Then there's that whole some-homophobic-people-are-actually-attracted-to-the-same-sex-thing, which I don't get either because if they just stopped persecuting people based off the people they were attracted to and loved, this wouldn't be a problem at all. Sometimes I think girls are pretty and this doesn't bother me at all, but then again I also clearly really like boys, so that's really easy for me to say. I don't know, I'm tired of issues that shouldn't be issues and are obviously just implicit rights that people who don't need those rights try to take away from people that do.

I'm glad that just as I feel comfortable enough with my face to frequently go without make up, Hillary Clinton is being criticized for the same thing. Also, North Carolina. Also, I'm never reading the news again.

I wish I were one of those cute quirky girls who posted culturally relevant things.

My shoes match my boyfriend's shoes.

Soooooo ready for margaritas. 

When I think about the guy who tried to run me off the road all I can think is that he is like Patrick Bateman, in American Psycho or Sick Puppy in Girl with Curious Hair in real life, except he didn't go so far as to actually hurt me.

I was biking my usual bike route on River Road and I came to the stop sign at Highland Parkway and River Road and I made the poor decision not to stop at the stop sign as the intersection only really affects people who are turning because Highland Parkway turns into River Road at that point and the bike lane is uninterrupted and therefore I would not be a hindrance to traffic. I know it was a poor decision, I should've stopped anyway, but this large tan SUV pulls up next to me, in the bike lane and the guy says, "There was a stop sign back there, young lady. You're supposed to stop at stop signs," and I ignore him like I normally do of people in these situations and he responds to my ignoring him by pulling into the bike lane in front of me, completely blocking my path while I am riding downhill clipped into my bike. Of course then I start screaming, "What the fuck are you doing, I'm going to crashed." I don't think I've ever actually screamed like that before, it was very ugly and guttural because he was nearly hitting my bike at this point and at the last moment he pulled away and I shouted "psycho," and started thinking mean thoughts about people with SUV's, but then I just started sobbing because I was so scared and pulled over to the side of the road and hyperventilated and cried for at least 15 minutes. What really gets me is that he called me young lady. Not only is it demeaning, it makes me feel as if he wouldn't have done it if I weren't a woman (i.e. vulnerable) and like it was an abuse of power more than anything else. I know I was originally in the wrong and should've stopped at the sign, but what he did was completely unwarranted and crazy and every time I think about it I just feel helpless and angry and want to stop biking on the road out of fear, but don't want to stop out of spite and I can't help but wonder why people in big SUV's are threatened by people on bicycles.

My will is not very great as there was a large downpour around 10 this morning. I'm still going to go biking. I can't stop thinking about the Chinese food I am going to eat after dinner. Finished No One Belongs Here More Than You this morning. Started Girl with Curious Hair yesterday. I spent half an hour in the bookstore trying to find a book I wanted to read and was horribly disappointed by my choice and spent so long thinking about how this is why the book industry is failing, not because of technology, but because when I go to the bookstore there is nothing that I want to read. I ended up going alphabetically through the entire fiction section and did not find anything until I reach David Foster Wallace in the W's. I still have yet to get through the first story in Oblivion, another book of David Foster Wallace short stories. Sometimes he is so readable and other times he makes me feel bored and illiterate.

I'm experimenting to see if I can will the sky to refrain from raining until after I go biking.

When I am about to get my period I cry incessantly and become very upset over things like lunch time being 21 minutes away.

Does anybody really stop having acne when they are an adult?