Disclaimer: If you don't want to read my whining, I recommend you skip the following paragraph.
My eyes hurt. My back hurts. My skinned knee hurts, and so, dully, does the ankle I twisted repeatedly in high school volleyball. I don't want to do homework, I don't want to do laundry, I don't want to shower, I don't want to go to bed. I just want it to be tomorrow, and all of this to be better. Nobody loves me. Wah. Except, of course, for the people who do...
La vida es dura, say the interviewees in an anthropologist's account of contemporary Nicaragua that I read last semester, and contextually, se me hace sentir como una mierda (using the passive construction in Spanish, where it is more common, makes me feel like less of a shit - hence the bilingualism). I am so lucky in so many different ways that, like all of the offices in the campus center, it's really difficult to remember them all at one, but really tedious to go through them one at a time. And being in the mood for neither difficulty nor tedium, I may just sign off here and convince myself that it is, in fact, time for bed.
Oops... check laundry first.
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