Saturday, December 04, 2004



What would Crazy do, on the Friday of Freud's defense of his diss proposal, when she did not have plans with Freud - tentative or otherwise?

I woke up at 5:10 this morning with a cat chasing his tail on my legs and meowing in excited morning fashion. There had been one call in the night (during my dead-zone between 1 and 2 when apparently, regardless of when I go to sleep, I cannot be roused by man or beast or at the very least telephone) - from Stella. I'm not mad about Freud - he was in that wacked out place of having jumped through an academic hoop - and he does love me or he wouldn't have bothered calling me at all (Dr. Crazy says, impersonating a 12-year-old idiotic girl). So after the kitty woke me up, I fed him the wet food ("Delicious!" says Man-Kitty) and I went back to sleep. Then I went to Starbucks, went into the office to get the stuff so I can write those letters of recommendation and so I can work on my syllabi for next semester, ho-hum, productivity, bla bla bla. If that asshole Freud doesn't call me this afternoon, though, I will be very irritated indeed. He owes me an apology. And I've got to stop getting ready for imaginary dates. It's a bizarre, bizarre hobby.

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