I finished the semester with B's in Healthy American and natural resources, which is somewhat pathetic because they were total bullshit classes that required nearly nothing of me and there was no reason, save for sheer laziness, that I should have not gotten in A in both of them. But I frankly didn't care, did nothing, and still got B's, which naturally doesn't speak much about either of the classes. I did, however, manage to get A's in all the rest of my classes. But this coming semester is going to be really interesting because I'm fresh out of bullshit GDR's, 3 of my 5 classes are writing emphasis, another is a writing class, and I also have my internship, the reading-adjunct class that I'm leading, I'm tutoring and still pulling a sweet-ass 30 hours at the Big K. I figure, the less I think about it, the less I have to say "fuck me."

Regardless, I am convinced, or at least very hopeful, that 2005 is going to be a much better year than 2004 which brought me nothing but truckloads of shit dumped at my door. The first five days of the new year have been pleasant, so I think I'm off to a good start. I really haven't been doing much at all, and my only major plans for the rest of the break are my upcoming margarita-fondue party and having the girls come spend a day with me. I had hoped to knit myself a sweater before the end of break, but I've kind of given up on that and am instead having fun working on a pair of legwarmers. I'm also going to try to make some floor pillows before Monday (when the party is) so that everybody has somewhere nice to sit. But if not, oh well. We'll all live.

I'm also planning to do some serious cleaning tomorrow, but I can't say I'm really looking forward to that.

I've actually spent most of my time sitting around reading and writing, which is crazy for me because its been so long since I've done either. I haven't picked up a book that wasn't obligatory since June when I read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. And now I'm reading One Hundred Years of Solitude which is amazing, and I'm not even half way through it. It's one of those books that makes you wish that you could write with even half of the vision and beauty. And writing . . . I haven't done any serious writing since I was in high school when it seemed like I could write a poem at any given moment, and then at some point the momentum was lost and I was just in a stupor. But my New Year's resolution was to eat as much junk food as I pleased so long as I started to write again, and I have written everyday, sometimes for a couple of hours a day and I can't even describe the feeling. It sounds so fucking cheesy, I know, but it's like now that I'm writing again, I am constantly turned on, not in a sexual way, but turned on in the sense that I am present and it feels good. It feels damn good. It took me almost a year and a half to fill up my last journal, which is ridiculous because it was nothing more than a standard one-subject notebook and when I was looking though it, I noticed that there was never any time when I wrote in it for more than three days in a row. What the hell is that? It's crap. But this year I'm going to do a hell of a lot better. At least, I'm really hoping so.

In other news, I absolutely adore Nikki.

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