I'm Eating Salmon

I am sorry blog for neglecting you. You knew I went to Edinburgh a few weekends ago, having the time of my life. You found out via facebook or maybe a victory tweet. I apologize. As a person who has been dumped three times by text messages (multi-page of course), at least, I should have known better. To pacify you, let me talk like a wanna-be hipster. Facebook is too mainstream. Twitter is only worthy because it is a personal news feed and a platform for heckling @Forward_Rebels and @newtgingrich. I'm so over retweets. Okay the last two sentences were blatant, non hipster lies, but I'm in stream of consciousness mode. Tell me a better justification for poor writing from a poor writer. Virginia Wolffe, my woman. Anyway, to provide some vindication, I average a sent text message every two days. Small wonder my fingers twitch.

Since I get to write for "Ole Miss Abroad Bloggers" !...!, I am going to have to use some greater liberty on this one. So I feel like going in to journal mode with digressions. Today, I woke up in a funk. I blame it on a delightful previous evening of sippin' rose wine, which tasted like strawberry hi-C, and reading a collage of The Atlantic and The Economist web articles, poetry of William Butler Yeats, and my Bible. Some mornings are Monday mornings even if it is Tuesday. On Tuesday I finish class at 5. I am starting to think that is ideal because the rush from getting finally done at 5 is the equivalent of a classes canceled on Friday email. Between classes, I started to put together a resume for this bioethics fellowship for this summer. Creating a resume is frustrating for a honest person. The things you are most proud of sound wordy or seem to shine like dusty gravel on the page. The bull activities you put down as space fillers (Big Event) shame you. I really would like to know if someone read it. Also, I really wish you could read rec letters. Assuming you are wise about whom you get to write the letter, a complimentary letter's vindication would just make your month. Instead, the rec letters are read by a stranger who recognizes the wording but not the student's name from the last letter he got from that person. I worked out to Maylene & the Sons of Disaster. Maylene, I've never forgotten my first mosh pit or that bleach blonde girl with the circular nose ring. Middle school was a great thing. Stop, stop, stop. Nostalgia starts with N-O. I'm hoping to talk to my cousin Bill tonight on Skype. We may be planning some spring break activities. Skint night is tonight. Skint means broke in Scottish vernacular. I will never understand Tuesday being the night to go out.

But hey, I'm on vacation.