Merry Christmas to Me!

I broke down and bought my camera last night.  Yay!  And for the record, I'm working three nights' worth of overtime to afford it.  WORTH IT.

Eureka!

You know, sometimes writing is a special kind of torture.  Those times when you can actually visualize the roadblock in your thought process but can't manage to get it out of the way?  When you start editing your words before they've even hit the page?  When everything you write makes you sound like you've the charisma of a friggin' piece of toast?  Those are the best times.

I've been entrenched in the world's worst (and most inconvenient) case of writer's block this past week.  Every time I sat down to answer the question "Why are you applying for this degree?" I was paralyzed with indecision.  I know why I want to do what I want to do, but I couldn't draw a connection between my past and my future.  

And then, all of the sudden, fifteen minutes ago, the clouds parted etc. etc. and it became completely simple.  Sublimely simple.  Now I can't stop writing.  It's GOOD.  I sound like, you know, a serious candidate!  Sweet relief!  

More to come.

HALLELUJAH. 

barry hussein

So remember a few weeks ago when i was complaining about this? Well, I was actually so annoyed that I fired off a snarky (but well argued) email to the event coordinator complaining about how impractical it is to ask "Generation Obama" for $100 ... two weeks before Christmas. I'm generally not this confrontational, I swear, but maybe I will be from now on because it totally paid off. Now I'm volunteering for the event, going for free and have a good chance of meeting the good Senator as a result. The historian in me has officially classified this as "BIG DEAL, A."

22 days!

Telling

Email exchange with Adam this morning: A: "Hey, your boyfriend's on the Drudge homepage." (I look at Drudge homepage) K: "Which one, Ahmadinejad or Obama?" A: "Brian Williams." K: "Oh THAT one!" Eccentric? Demented? I know not the best description for my taste in men. What really needs to be said here, though, is that this whole conversation started today because I woke up from a very vivid dream this morning in which Brian Williams traveled to my house to hang out where I proceeded to try and get him in the sack. Unfortunately he was not amused and hit on my sister instead. And the best part? We got to my house on a very special, hidden "Reporters' Railroad" with golden cars, available only to very special journalists. Brian was happy to give me a (non-sexy) lesson about the history of the rail cars for some reason, but was still partial to hitting on my sister instead of me. Part of me was not bothered, though, because in-my-dream Brian Williams was kind of a frat boy. I'm holding out for real life Brian Williams, who instead likes dogs, spray tans and his adorable elderly father. And is totes sexy and into me.