rub one out

Shit.

I must not allow myself to sleep too late and stay up too late simply because there is no one here to see me do it to myself.

Eat. Sleep. Be on time. Clean my apartment. For me.

I went over to the campus and met with my advisor, who actually has no connection with the area of linguistics in which I will be studying, so he pointed me in the right direction and bade me farewell.

Three professors later I finally got the information I wanted, but it wasn't unpleasant because everyone I spoke to was charming, cheerful, helpful, accessible, and seemed to have all the time in the world.

The trouble is that I am admitted into a masters program, but in order to have a cognitive science joint degree I must be admitted into a terminal PhD program.

Dr. Port was the charming phonetician who assured me that I could just register as though I were a PhD student and we'd handle the red-tape later.

The most daunting thing in this whole deal is:

calculus

statistics

c ++

3 languages in addition to English

but I have five years.

My new friend, Jon, called tonight to make sure I was settling in okay. He offered to walk me around and point out what's "cool" in Bloomington. I'm one day older than he is. He's one of my frienster friends (actually, that's how I met him) if any of you friendsters want to investigate into my one buddy here.

In addition to Jon, though, there is Arwen (my mentor) who went to lunch with me today.

Also, there is Rachel who also is a first-year grad student. We got our student ID's together.

Have I mentioned how big this school is?

Arwen and Rachel are both neither my type, but I reckon they're going to spend a lot of time studying with me. They're decidedly "school friends" whereas Jon is a "social friend."

Jon and I talked a bit about music, since I bought

Califone, "Roomsound"

Bonny 'Prince' Billy, "Ease On Down the Road"

The Walkmen, "Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone"

The Ravonettes, "Whip It On"

...today and I mentioned to him my frustration at not being able to find any Olivia Tremor Control...

Get this, boys: he said the label he works for is going to print more OTC albums because they are a distributor, or some shit. I don't quite understand. Like, their label doesn't have The Microphones, but they print them. Awesome.

So he's cool, but don't worry: I'm not going to get a crush on him.

I think that the romantic tidal wave of Kasey followed immediately by the under-tow of Tylere has pretty much left me water-logged and I'll be blowing sand out of my nose for at least a month.

I've been reading old journals the last couple of days. Like, from when I was sixteen. I've been by myself a lot the last couple of days. I've eaten breakfast after ten o'clock at night the last couple of days (right here in my own kitchen).

Tomorrow I'll ruff up financial aide and open a bank account.

Bloomington has an Urban Outfitters but no H&M.

My apartment looks like a low-income housing-project on the Eastside of Atlanta, and I don't look much better (except for that I'm white... and have a laptop) since I've been outside with a Bud and a cigarette in a wife beater.

I just live next to the porn shop, I don't shop there.