August 30th, 2004

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In Which the World Ceases to Have Meaning

So, I'm in that phase of thinking about a Ph.D program where I admitt that I'm not sure I want to keep studying. I love the IDEA of being Miss Smartypants, but really, I think I'd rather put my energy into being the next Danielle Steele. I don't need more school. I need to keep writing. This revelation was helped along (but not before I sadly spent a lot of money on this project), by my friend Kevin, who's also a writer, and occationally amazingly perceptive, when he's not too busy memorizing Oscar winners, Tony winners, or every episode of the Golden Girls. My debt load thanks him most sincerely for making me see that I was about to embark on a very expensive emotional crutch (higher education).

Now, about being the next Danielle Steele... a miriad of television movies have been made of her novels: which gives me great hope of any of my works being turned into a Lifetime Original Movie.

Speaking of Lifetime movies: Last night after I got out of work (yes, work on a Sunday, urggh), I saw "Moment of Truth: A Secret Between Friends" which was about two girls, one of whom teaches the other to be bulemic, and then dies, leaving the other girl with bags under eyes, lips so dry they're white, and bad 90's fashions. Oh, it was wonderful. Linda Carter, aka Wonder Woman, was the caring, understanding Mom. That guy that used to be the dad on The Hogan Family was the dad. Steller stuff, I tell you.
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When it's Quiet

Everyone has left work for the evening. It's been a long week, even though it is only Monday. The students have returned and our department is responsible for making sure the little buggers are in their classrooms and sleeping in their uncomfortable beds. I left a little while ago to get some dinner, and when I returned, there was no one here. I was waiting for someone to work the night shift with me, but he called in, and now I've got the building to myself, however temporarily. The quiet is kind of nice. There is something calming about being able to hear the sound of my own thoughts, the slow tap of the airconditioning vent against the frame as cool air blows in, and the resounding click of the keys as I type. Also, my apartment isn't airconditioned, and since I'm a Constantine and we're a notoriously sweaty family, I'm enjoying the cold for a few more minutes before I head out.
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