"It's good to see you out and about, Thea."

I've eaten nothing but cookie dough and chocolate chips with pellegrino for dinner, faked my way through a commentary on post-colonial literary theory for senior seminar because I didn't have time to finish the reading for Wednesday's class, haven't even started the photography assignment due Thursday, and woke up my mother at 11:00 pm tonight when I got home from class in an unsuccessful attempt to reestablish my status as a good daughter and phoning home on a regular basis...and I'm still smiling. Why? Shit if I know.

Maybe it's because my stress-relief baking was well received at the cafe tonight; maybe it's because for the first time in almost a year I've had an engaging class discussion about literature (yay for Cortázar!) with my peers AND a great professor; maybe it's because I dragged my ass out of bed at 7:15 to work out this morning so that I could be productive today; and maybe it's because walking home tonight to the apartment, even mocking Baseball boys couldn't shake my sense of self and personal accomplishment (or the small grin that I had on my face left over from compliments on the cookies and study abroad stories of London). Fuck them if they want to gossip about me and break out into bawdy laughter after I continue on the path! I'm cute, I'm talented, and if they don't care to appreciate me, then I'll find other friends who will. I can laugh at them now, and really be laughing, not laughing just long enough until I get home and start to cry. Makes me feel a little tougher, a little more resilient. Also makes me sound like overcooked meat. But enough with the cooking metaphors, I've got work to do! Essays to proofread, reading to skim, and class waaaaay earlier than anyone should have to smell darkroom chemicals.