December 10, 1998.

Just so you know, the Boy and I are back to "officially dating" status. What does this mean? Well, it means that the Cow-Milk game is over. It means that I can wear the silver Celtic-ish band we bought a few months back. And it means that I don't have to launch into a long string of qualifiers whenever someone asks me "so how are you & the Boy really doing?"

Life is good.

This has been a pretty good crunch time, all things considered. For one thing, I haven't come down with anything. Must be the fact that I'm out of the pestilent university residences. Although I'm not quite out of the woods yet, I am past most of the bad stuff. By 11 a.m. tomorrow, I'll've shaken off yet another course, leaving only two. Coo.

But crunch time is having interesting side effects. For one thing, the Boy is at home writing essays. As I explained a few weeks ago, he is always here on Thursdays. Axiomatically, world without end, amen. Even the week we broke up, we reconciled on Thursday. But he's home and I'm here in a dumbass sweatshirt, now that I don't have to impress anyone.

Which is another thing. I've entered into the dregs of my laundry in this third week post washing. Today I wore a Catholic schoolgirl's outfit, which I've only worn once in the last few months - and that was to impress Agamemnon (it was his birthday, and he has a thing for CSG's). I'm into the party side of my wardrobe, in other words. I may very well wear a cocktail dress tomorrow - at least it'll be clean.

But overall, the days have been going pretty well. Yesterday the Boy & I goofed off until 3, despite (or perhaps because) of the fact that we'd taken the time off to work on essays. Most goof-off sessions of this nature are rationalized as a way to unwind; yet they seldom, if ever, work. This actually relaxed and focussed me. I was able to run the "good student" application on my mental desktop. Perhaps for the first time this year.

I have a tiny audience again, as I only had time to send out notices to 3 of the hardcore. This is good. Stacy's note of joy at my return actually made me feel good this morning - not an easy feat in those early hours.

I seem to be forming a decent relationship with the professor I idolize. This would be the Renaissance Love Poetry professor, the one who taught me all the western classics plus Shakespeare. Other students don't like her seriousness; I love the fact that I can't get away with bullshit. I think she stopped liking me during Shakespeare, which isn't that surprising. It was a really rough year for me, and a lot of people stopped liking me. But we've been meeting over my Faerie Queene essay, and I think she actually enjoys my irreverent smirk again. Ultra-cool.

Does anybody else think that this is hilarious? I love to laugh at goths who think that artificially shifting the vowels of any given word is a romantic use of language. They wold fain be yclept vampyres and suche, ye ken the tyep. Serious Spenser-damage...not that they know who Spenser is. Maybe if it had been a part of the Sandman, or made into a role-playing game but you never know.

But I guess I really have nothing to say on the gothgeek score...I just figured out who the Boy reminds me of when he wears a black t-shirt and his hair sticks up. Gawd. You know you're a gothgeek when part of the reason you're attracted to your SO is because of his resemblance to a comic book character.