i’ve been home for almost a month now, and i’ve still got a lot left to accomplish. it’s 2:23 am, and i’m not sleeping, not working; instead, i am popping painkillers (mind you, i’m not abusing them— i had a surprise wisdom tooth extraction yesterday) and thinking about dim sum and ideas for my future living room (i’m thinking about a sort of messy museum-inspired wall with mirrors and maps and movie posters and book covers and postcards and photographs and reprints, all framed of course).

and that’s all, you know, very nice, but i’ve got other things i should be doing. my vision report is due the thirteenth, and i’ve somehow been incredibly reluctant to write it, though i have all my ideas worked out (i’ve even set up a working demo, hah, which probably required much more effort and skill than it would have to write about it in my report). i haven’t even begun an essay i told myself i was going to finish last week. i have yet to set a date for when i’m going to go get my annual check at the doctor’s.

but just so this post doesn’t end off with my followers thinking i am an epic time waster, i’m still feeling pretty good about life— been sealing the deal with lots of restaurants, have applied to a few internships (though ironically not the one i want most), and continue to find joy in looking at puli pictures on google images with jennifer.

i don’t know. i’m good, life’s good, i do good work (well, maybe not right now, but i swear i’ll come out of this lazy phase soon enough), and that’s enough.