June 17, 1999.

I can't believe it's Thursday night.

On Tuesday, 2 essays will come due. I've been working on one for 2 weeks. 6 books on the second topic lie unread on my bed. I'm trying not to think about it too much. Especially since I'll be going on retreat tomorrow, and will therefore have my prep time drastically reduced.

I'm really trying not to think about it. I'm afraid I'll start freaking out it I do.

Other than that (and that's a big chunk of what's going on right now, thanks for asking), things have been pretty interesting and occasionally swell. Monday was my anniversary, and though I spent many hours conducting research into the English Reformation, it didn't seem to affect the actual celebrations as such. Neither of us have any money right now, so we concentrated on the 'romance' part. That in particular was a conscious departure from the highschool anniversaries of my past, where gifts were lavished upon one another. I can't say that I entirely miss those days though. Especially since romance and drama is such a big part of my ideal world.

Which is why I have a rose on my back and not a scorpion, I suppose.

On Tuesday I graduated, much to my surprise. I'd requested a fall graduation some time ago - nevertheless, my degree was printed and my name entered into the program. Essentially, I was graduated in absentia. I'm not sure if that's cool or not. On one hand, I'm the first femme on either side of the family to complete a university education. On the other...big friggin' deal. I get the piece of paper anyway. And just like romance is more important that wining & dining, actually earning a B.A.Hon. is much more important than wearing a black gown in a sea of black gowns.

Listen to me. I'm actually bragging at the same time that I'm telling you I don't believe the hype. Sheesh.

Yesterday being Wednesday, the Boy and I trekked off to the Victory Café for beer & mocking conversation. The key exchange revolved around Paris, as it so often does. St. Jack had just mentioned that Troilus & Cressida was about a girl who did some guy wrong. Paris muttered, "oh, that's every story." This irked me, so I started hurling titles at him. Robinson Crusoe. Heart of Darkness. Crime and Punishment. That's when the ridiculous justifications started.

Homeward Bound - "the cat did him wrong." Moby Dick - "the whale...no, the sea did him wrong." Eventually the matter was allowed to subside, as most of Paris' indefensible assertions do. One of those things about Paris; he's really into making illogical sweeping statements, both for humour value and to express genuine dramatic emotion. It certainly isn't dull, whatever else you might say of it.

This brings us to today. Erm. Today didn't go as well as planned. I slept through my morning classes and spent the evening rushing from lecture to meeting to home. Tomorrow I go on a United Church women retreat with my mom, and I'm hoping to bang out an essay outline while I'm there. But these plans never work out, at least for me. I'm just pleased that I finally have something to write about after 2 weeks of research. It's such a relief to feel the mental tumblers clicking over, to feel like I actually know something about my topic and I've figured out some things to say. 2 weeks of feeling overwhelmed, confused and hostile are obviously no fun, and the payoff is sweet.

I miss Cranly very much today. This morning I dreamt about him, and the problem with late morning sleep is that my dreams stick with me. I don't know what happened between myself and Ophelia to make her avoid me like the plague. I do know that it has reduced my relationship with both Cranly and Comrade Jen to nil. I don't think about it a lot anymore, but I dream about them all the time. I dream that they talk to me. I dream that they love me. And I wake up to a world where they don't talk to me and they don't love me and every memory of them is stained by this fact.