I feel a pressing sense of obligation to write something here. I don't know why. What I should feel is a pressing sense of obligation to go to bed. My tomorrow seems closer than it should be.
Thus far, the whole let's-be-organized-so-we-don't-fail (What am I, royal, with that we?) is working out. But this is just the first of the semester, right? In no time I'll be despairing over assignments that magically appeared on all the syllabi. Okay. I just wanted to use the word syllabi. Who doesn't?
But today, not only have I been prepared for all my classes, done some advance homework, and sorted out my plan-of-action for the next week, but I have also returned to a bit of domesticity. I washed a monstrous amount of dishes (read: all of them) with a pair of rubber gloves on. Not just any rubber gloves, but household gloves, says the box they came in, that can withstand the scalding heat of sufficiently bacteria-killing steaming dishwater. Yet another completely practical Christmas gift from my sister. (Among others, towel sets, an ice scraper, a sandwich maker, and winter gloves.) Then to top it off (also known as to make matters worse), I made a casserole. That's right. A casserole, but rest easy tonight knowing that I don't actually own a casserole dish with its traditional snap-on cover, ready to be toted to any middle-to-old-age social event. I went with the 9x13 cake pan. Anyway, it is poppy seed chicken. Good stuff, I must say, and I made some subtle improvements on the recipe my sister gave me. See. It's all her fault. But I do, therefore, have food and clean dishes to eat it on.
Alright, I'm going to bed. You know you're old when you get up before the rooster that lives next door. And there are so many things wrong with that statement. First off, this rooster I speak of usually does his crowing at more like 9:00 am. A little belated, I dare say. And next door? Since when do roosters take up residence in semi-populated places? Well, at least he doesn't live in the apartment next door, but the house next to the apartments. Either way, I'll be long gone before that bird even ruffles his morning feathers.