I got some pretty good grades.

I got some not-so-good grades.

I almost cried in French class. It could have gotten ugly.

I wish it was one of those stories I’ve told where I was expecting to bomb and did really well instead.

It’s not.

I have to write about Tom Stoppard.

I have to write about Edith Wharton.

I’ve narrowed down writing about either TS Eliot or Ralph Ellison.

Then I have to put French back in its place.

I won’t be blogging for a while; at least the rest of this week.

I’ve been trying to reserve all-out fun for the weekends. It’s worked up until now, when everything is due and finals are on the way.

I’ll be on chat intermittently. I hope I’m lucky enough to catch you.

Make sure to pop in and say hi. Make sure I’m eating and sleeping. Showering. And such. Tell me a joke. But make sure it’s funny.

Thanks to all those who’ve been nothing but encouraging and tolerant so far this semester. It has meant the world to me.