2003-10-01 - 12:50 p.m.

I have to write the statement of purpose again. AGAIN! I have nothing left for this, I swear! The little voice in my head that says, "Get this over with!" has laryngitis! I don't want to ever have to look at this thing again, and yet I'm going have to go through this process about ten more times!

Oy.

The worst part is that for the first time, the revisions are going somewhere that I don't want to go. They eliminated the part of my essay that I was most proud of and made it a Hell of a lot more boring. And now I wonder whether this was in the interest of space, or because my writing style is sentimental and overwrought.

I should be happy this morning. My sister had a baby yesterday, and she's adorable. I had breakfast tacos this morning, and they were also adorable. I'm getting my Jake 2.0 fix tonight, and, once again, adorability abounds!

If I could be anywhere right now, I'd be in Philadelphia, having drinks at the Khyber with Lolita, Zenith, and Snoozin', as well as Diva Lawya and PMV if they could make it, and any Penn kids who could get out of class. I'd be concerned with getting another cider and flirting with the cute punk boys. I wouldn't be writing this essay.

It would also help if I didn't have Ani DiFranco stuck in my head, because I really feel that a line like "My pussy is a tractor and this is a tractor pull" isn't good to quote in an essay.

And odds are against me. There are tons of future scientists and politicians out there who are going to look a hell of a lot better than me.

But the coolest city in the world, a city where everyone has a British accent, beckons. And so I press on.

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