Check one: YES
Okay. Incoming as soon as I find my phone. (Cleaning is a messy process for me, in that it generally creates more debris.)
Wash ,'Bushwhacked'
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Check one: YES
Okay. Incoming as soon as I find my phone. (Cleaning is a messy process for me, in that it generally creates more debris.)
I think you should go to grad school. Or they should.
I have considered re-attempting the PhD, but the fact that they want money for it usually dissuades me.
I do not think the school would still be standing if I sent them.
but that is because I'm lazy
Laziness, I understand. It was the initial chorus of "EW!" that made me wonder if I'd clicked on the wrong link.
I'm not even sure I can live a life without an institution behind me anymore, though.
This was me eighteen months ago. And then I got used to having a a forty hour week, and a steady income, and now it's killing me being back in college.
The best thing about my year off? Not feeling guilty. For the first time in my life, if it was the evening, or the weekend, there wasn't any work or study that I could/should be doing. My time was my own, and I had actual, honest-to-God money to do things with it.
The main goal of my year off was to save money for my post-grad and get some field experience, which I did, but I probably should have taken another year and travelled. Maybe next year.
I'm not even sure I can live a life without an institution behind me anymore, though.
You don't need no stinkin' institution! You've got friends. Friends with couches.
Red Hot Retro Girl
Curse you, wee Hec! You knew I was going to click on that thinking it was the Powers character, didn't you?
Many people are squicked by breastmilk who are not squicked by cow milk, which, let's face it, is breastmilk from a cow, except cows have udders instead of breasts, but you know, same diff. Just like some people like to think that chicken comes in boneless skinless pieces from the chicken tree. (Not that there's anything wrong with that! I find it charming! Especially when you're aware that you just can't deal with reality. It's okay. Reality is really hard. I can't deal with lots of it myself, but breastmilk I can handle. Not that I make cheese out of it. Can I go home now?)
Can I go home now?
Heavens, yes.
That crazy, hmmm? I go.