i was in an ambiguously good mood. i was all like: school's almost done! i want meat! so i treated myself to a cheeseburger at 5leaves. it's around the corner and it's fucking delicious. i had a cheeseburger there before, and it was good. but this time i was eating and being like this in my head:
1. this is so fucking good
2. how can something taste this good?
3. what spice did they use?
4. i hate mayonnaise but whatever this sauce is could win awards.
5. the roll is fucking perfectly buttered and toasted.
6. HOW is this SO good?
7. I am ravenously eating this. alone. and i don't care.
8. the blood is soaking the fucking bun just the way it does in my dreams.
9. why is this the best burger i have ever had?
anyway, it was like gooder than great. i had a delicious glass of some sort of red wine too. i was in heaven and i was texting people and i was enjoying my alone time and i was in the warmth and i was: WOW.
then, i got home, drunk from my glass of wine and high from meat, when i got an email from my thesis adviser. the #2 version. suffice it to say: things are not a disaster, in the least. but, the wording was not delicate and the comments were not indicative of the tiny tweaks necessary to complete the fucking thing. it was "blunt" and "insensitive" and well, diplomacy has seen better days. or has it? i guess when you criticize someone but then say things like: "you could make a career out of writing," you are cleared of prior emotional abuses? probably not.
anyway! onwards. only two days til i get the sucker signed and i couldn't be happier. TOTALLY kidding. i'll be happier on may 14th at 7pm when i'm on my way outta this city and on to the next. (NOT FOR GOOD! just for the weekend, you got nervous, didn't you?)
2 comments:
I thought Maximum Fradulous was doing yours . . . but then, all those finance guys are sure doing their due diligence *now*.
Maximum is my numero uno, thank the goodness of the world. is the numero two that's saying the not nice to whitney things.
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