Thursday, December 14, 2000
I stumble in from the 20-degree weather, the sun setting behind me as I shut the door. I want to shake myself, remove this fat of stress that has congealed around my head. Three quick movements and I have an open beer bottle in my hand. My coat hasn't even hit the chair.
Seven semesters down, one to go. I can do it. Piece of cake. So why am I so freakin' upset about the direction my life is taking? I guzzle down the rest of the beer, run downstairs and get on the phone. Plans made, I clean myself up — more than I've done all week: shaved, trimmed, exfoliated, showered, deodorized, moisturized, dressed. I sit and wait to be taken away.
Portal
Et Cetera
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