Number of pages I have read in the last 19 days: 1,386.
Number of pages I need to read in the next 8 days: 559.
Reason for this: At a certain juncture this spring, my thesis became all that mattered.
Supporting quote: “Be careful what you don’t read, because the lack of it goes into your writing, too.” (David Long)

Ratio of men to women at most potlucks I’ve attended this month: 4 to 30.
Number of times in the last 48 hours I’ve been asked if “that was a date,” as a result of being seen off campus with a male member of our artist community for no particular reason other than hanging out: 6.
Reason for this: The single women of this lovely artist community are, ahem, highly deprived and therefore acutely aware of “anything” that could develop into “something.”
Supporting quote: My friend left the mountains this weekend to attend a wedding. Upon her return, she left me a message that said, “Katey, I have a story to tell you.” I called back and didn’t even have to ask if she got laid. She laughed until she screamed. There was no need for her to say yes, because instead she said, “The men get it in the real world. They hit on you and buy you drinks and they aren’t all looks and no activity. They like you, they make a move. It’s so normal it hurts. We live in a bubble. Katey, this weekend I was a fucking piranah!”

Number of minutes it took to send three images on dial up connection: 62.
Number of people to receive said images: 1.
Reason for this: The only thing that’s “high speed” on Fork Mountain is the rate at which the weeds will overtake your driveway.
Supporting quote: This, from a recent postcard I sent to Dave Swidler, “I decided to send you this news via postcard. It’s faster than dial up.”

Number of miles to the grocery store, one way: 17.
Number of miles I get per gallon: 26.
Resulting cost of craving a pint of ice cream: $4.50 in gas + $3.79 for ice cream = $8.29.
Supporting quote: “It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.” (R.E.M.)

  • Felicity

    Oh, honey.

    I am SO with you on the pages. Except I refuse to count them up. It’s just books. Books make nice numbers you can count on fingers.

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