The Library. My only friend.

People with screamy children shouldn't bring them to the library. That's the cranky 78 year old that lives inside of me, I am aware but that doesn't make my viewpoint any less valid. If your child can't be depended upon to not scream, don't bring the kid to a place were things of an academic nature are supposed to be occuring.

Key phrase: supposed to be. I'm working up to my big paper, trust. I just need to dick around for a little while longer.

Harry Potter: I am the only book-lover on the planet that doesn't love these books? I feel like I should like them a whole lot more. Especially considering the fact that people LINE UP AT MIDNIGHT TO BUY THESE BOOKS. Insane. I know I'm probably not the best person to be casting stones in the sanity/insanity department but still. I started reading the first one and I didn't finish it. I was fine with my decision. But that was a few years ago and I feel all this worldwide peer pressure to go back, try again and read the other seventeen books that this woman has written. Not seventeen? Whatever.

Le sigh. It's so hard to be a Toni.

Reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman right now. I'm beginning to suspect that all truly creative people are just short of sanity.

Buying a computer when I go home, methinks. It's either buy it now and replace the tuition money by January or live in the library throughout the fall semester. Although that option may seem appealing right now, I don't think I'm going to like it so much when I'm fighting fifteen smelly frosh. That's right, I said they were smelly. And they are. No, I don't care that I was once one of them.

All right, I'm going to dick around until 5:30 and then I absolutely have to get at least 3 pages done for this essay.