I said that last bit in a fatigued stupor and Dr. C. reiterated that I ought to pursue the English path. And I still mean to, though I have doubts every day. I think it may end up coming down to persistence rather than intelligence, which is really my only hope.
I can't get over how impatient I've been lately. I've been wanting everything yesterday; no wonder I freak out when things don't go as I initially picture. I forget completely that there is a long, hot summer waiting in front of us all, and there'll be more opportunities for fun than we presently realize.
And even though I said I wouldn't talk about work (it's hard not to; it's taking up more than a third of my life), I had my first quality evaluation today, and I was told some very good things. In fact, my so-called humility prevents me from elaborating much, but let's just say I rocked, although the same thing would have happened if I were to go back to first grade elementary school and start taking tests there. I might have missed having this thought were it not for the fact that we spent ten minutes this morning putting our hand prints onto the walls, in true
I'd like the luxury of sitting down with a cup of tea and writing some dreamy yet grounded-enough-to-be-intelligible prose, but the thing that bugs me is that once I have that luxury I'll be unwilling to capitalize on it in much the same way that I am presently unwilling to go to bed, but at least I will enjoy both once I get there. And so I go.