Skipping class, feeling good about taking a very stressful exam, reading a novel (the French don't suck at literature after all - after reading so much atheistic existentialism, I thought for a while they might ought to just stay in the kitchen where they belong, but after reading Marcel and Mauriac, I've decided that they are welcome in the library as well*) all afternoon, Crane Scholar's dinner - during which I decided that it may actually be possible to be a good mother and an academic, not that this is important information for me personally, going to a cocktail party for a new friend's birthday, reading aloud with someone, sleeping, tutoring, having lunch with my wonderful roommate, researching for a 10-page paper due Tuesday for my Augustine class, babysitting the most hyper 3-year-old I've ever met, taking him to a suprisingly entertaining children's museum, reading for Existentialism on top of a wooden red fire truck so that he can play while someone and I study, wearing one of my little black dresses that doesn't get out much, having dinner out with someone, drinking cappucino and reading the paper over someone's shoulder, putting off actual paper writing in order to share these recent happy memories with my dear blog-readers.
I love my life so much I have to list it all, which is probably not very interesting, so here's an embarrasing grocery-store moment to make you groan with sympathy for me. I was at HEB, looking for those little tiny cartons of ice cream that come with their own spoon/shovel-like utensils, and out of the corner of my eye I saw two people whom I thought were college-age guys. I'm not conceited but it didn't seem totally unnatural when one talked to me and said "see anything you like?" Guys that age are just friendly, so I said, "oh, no, I can't find the little cute ice creams." And we talked about the relative merits of the pint-sized cartons, which are much bigger than I wanted. At this point I looked up and noticed that one of the "guys" was actually a middle-aged man - the one that was talking, and presumably he was the other one's father, since it's parents' weekend. I walked away thinking it was odd, and several minutes later I realized the guy probably wasn't even talking to me to begin with, but he was probably talking to his son. It's weird how awkward I felt! I just had a conversation with someone who probably thought I was the most self-absorbed person ever. This is what happens when you speak very audibly in the presence of someone absorbed in that most perplexing task of choosing ice cream.
*This was a joke and I have nothing against French people. I have a great-something-grandmother who was from Alsace-Lorraine, held alternately by Germany and France, so there is a very good possibility that I am French myself.
