So, what else is happening? Luckily, not that much has changed: I still love lists.
1. I've been writing a lot lately, for no special reason. I think it at least partly has to do with the fact that I bought a notebook for my classes this term and then carefully labeled each section; of course once I set aside space for something practical I had to start writing stories in it. I'm thinking about writing "ARTHURIAN LIT" or something on all the notebooks I buy, just so I can get that feeling of playing hookey whenever I write a story. I wonder if Philip Roth ever did that?
2. Philip Roth, also, is redeemed in my eyes; we were on the outs for a while, especially after The Humbling (Jesus Christ), but I've started reading American Pastoral and he's now my future husband again. I think we're at about the same level of maturity--you know how boys take longer than girls.
3. I'm visiting Michigan in June to see Amelia's (aka my sweet baboo's) graduation, and to partly like the Michiganders do. I'm missing a test so I can fly out early, but once someone's thrown up in your hair, it's hard to stay away from them for very long.
4. I have altogether too much work to do in the next few days (I'm reading The Romance of the Rose, which is not especially boring but somehow seems much, much longer than its 464 pages would suggest--it's bigger on the inside, like a Medieval House of Leaves), but I sort of love being this busy, too.
5. I'm taking a year of Spanish over the summer so I can graduate on time, every day from 8 to 10:30 am and I think it'll be kind of great (you see what I mean about the tumor?).
6. I'm planning on getting an apartment sometime in late June or early July, after I visit Amelia. It's about time.
7. I went out with a guy a few times recently, and while it quickly went into "he's just not that into you" territory, it was still pretty great. The teenage feelings, when they come back, are as teenagery as ever (you know, in a good way), and even if you get stung later on, that doesn't have any effect on what happened before: for a few days, life is like a girl group song. Springtime and those first pangs of romance, no matter where they go, are so tied together, and their beauty is in their temporality: spring, no matter how it may seem to promise to place you on the verge of a new world, just turns, eventually, to summer; pangs turn either into a long-term relationship in which you have to argue about who forgot to buy baking soda, or into heartbreak, or into nothing. The point is that they existed--and that they come back every year.