weaving

Spent the afternoon in the library with Leah today. She worked on group project stuff and notes for two exams she has next week. I finalized my critical essay for the school application. The first step was finding a worthy essay in my stack of old university papers--they all reeked so heavily of stilted and faux-pretentious tripe. Spent several hours over the last couple of days bringing this one (the least laughable of the slush) up to sufficient speed, so to speak. I am happy (enough) with the results. The next big step is re-taking the GRE, which is scheduled for the 20th of this month, four days before my birthday. Have plenty of practice testing to work on before then. Getting back into school, especially at this level, is so tiring. I feel like a fucking circus seal half the time with all the ceremonially unnecessary hoop-jumping. I should get an honorary degree just for adhering to all the bullshit political requirements.

Waffling about a 75 mile ride tomorrow. Would be about twenty miles further than I have ever gone before. The group is fairly novice, though, and all has similar fears of distance (they are training for a 100 mile charity ride that is going on this summer). I just feel like it is too late in the game to get ready for such an endeavor, this 75 mile training ride tomorrow. Just got home from the library and I would need to wash all my bike clothes, head to Target to get some energy bars and Gatorades...

What a whiny post this has turned into. Fuck.

In other cycling news, I told founder Joe Blogs he needs to ride fixed, he wasn't too convinced. Nonetheless, his geary, disc-brakey Blip is water-beadingly fresh today.

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...did you check the transcript? i checked the transcript. transcripts, actually, with an -s. ah, indeed. he has been all over the map, hasn't he? makes sense with his wandering night terrors and all. did you hear about the new one last night? well, new version of an old classic. this time after all his teeth fell out (of course there was the progression: normal, loose, tongue-pokingly loose, dropping like icicles) he crawled--crawled--back home, mouth bloody. so what was new? what was new, well, the blood, for one, usually there isn't the gore. and the crawling as well. he had to weave around the crowds that were gathering like they were watching a goddamned parade or something. ah yes, i remember that now. but it never came, they were never there, the floats, the elephants, the beauty queens turning their wrists like DeWalt drills with dying batteries and thinking that this constituted a wave...