Ey, yo.

Two months, almost since I last penned an entry.
Life's been busy-mainly because when I'm not at school, trying to figure out math equations, what happened to ancient civilizations and the meaning of my existence; I work thirty or so hours a week in the span of three days.
And thus, the life of a writer. To survive, one must work. To write and create, one must not have the tedious tasks of life whirling around them. F.m.l., am I right?
So basically, here's whats been going on in my life:
I was going to transfer schools, but then I found out that I look like a genius in a good third of my classes-why would I leave that inflated air-space?
I'm planning on studying abroad next year-Ireland. Can I get an amen, brother?
One of my favorite high school English teachers was arrested for doing 'shrooms and got fired-my high school lost a great man due to stupid, archaic mores.
I registered in MA to vote-as a socialist, no less. Hope you enjoy listening to my nonsensical phone conversations, government.
I decided that I'm going to find an asp and Cleopatra myself if McCain wins, dies and then the polar-bear killer gets to be president. Fuck that.
I'm the queen of art history.
I've been doing alright, ok, fair in keeping in touch with people. It could be going a lot better...
I've gotten used to my fingers freezing, the smell of stale cigarettes wafting into my bedroom and giving me the dry heaves, and cleaning up all the messes my roommate leaves around and just letting the sweet, sweet anger build inside of me.
I lost weight, apparently, enough so that I have a sixty and seventeen year old trying to get on my shit. It's weird.
I've been writing up a storm of beautiful half-works.
I realized that I have the unmatched ability to wear a purple polyester dress with stripes, white heels after labor day and red lipstick-at once or all together.
I hate John Lennon, and me and H. are going to have a Christmas party. We're inviting Paul, Elton, George M. and DMX.
Also, no one can outcrazy me. Try it. You say " There's that baby I killed". I say " Well, there's a good chance I might Plath myself senior year". Then you continue my academic advising session.
Yeah.
Fear and respect me.