there's more to life than books, you know

I am sitting outside on Amesterdam flying high on caffeine reading Specters of Marx thinking about time and justice and neo-liberal neutralization of the past, body buzzing. It's springtime finally and earlier I was reading in the nook of my new semi-secret tree in Morningside. Now, if only I could notate all 4 Derrida books I've got in my bag by the end of the afternoon and get the outline done tomorrow. Failing that, something close.

Well well well, I'm not allowed to be worried so I made a list on the train after writing Mark-Ameen style in my notebook inspired by the book of his poems I'd stolen from the Pink Pony. I stayed in the city entirely too long by some form of measurements and now I'm back at Vassar for today, tomorrow, and a wee sliver of Thursday. In that little morceau of time I need to: make amends for being a flake, write an essay in French, take a practice GRE test, finish this first section of my thesis, etc. Everything is, emphatically, fine. Maybe a little more coffee would help things along.

Now I need to scurry along and rustle something up about de Maupassant so's I can act as though I have a draft going.