"and is this my final chance...?"

just shy of three weeks ago, i gave a copy of one of my most recently "awesome" writing samples to janet lyon (head of english honors advising) for perusal to decide whether or not i'm eligible for the honors college. since she hasn't yet gotten back to me.. i'm going to assume that i didn't make the cut and i don't have the distinct pleasure/terror of having to write an undergraduate thesis.
of course, that particular pleasure is undercut by the worry that i'll start on my dissertation with no work longer than 20 pages under my belt.
that undercutting, though, is further undermined by my determination to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo, but not in november. instead, i'll be doing it in july.. like all the cool kids. like, uh.. that awesome guy that i called at lion line tonight! i talked to this guy for 50 minutes just shooting the breeze, swapping funny drinking stories (his were, admittedly, way wilder than mine) and talking about computers and writing. he was a really cool guy (freelance writer) who was both refreshing to speak with and full of interesting ideas and tips for getting into both grad school and the professional writing world. and, not only was he cool, but he also pledged $100 on a credit card. sweet half hour bonus! also, he complimented me to my supervisor - this can only lead to good things. the best thing he did, though, was remove me from an entirely draining evening of calling lousy prospects and receiving angry hang-ups instead of scholarship-supporting pledges.

i'm so ready for spring break. my yarn hasn't arrived yet (so i'm dreading tomorrow's 3 hour english class and another 3 1/2 hour shift at work with nothing to do) and i have no motivation to study for my midterms (i read, so i'm good.. all i need to do is not mix up spenser and wells. should be pretty easy), nor do i have any desire to work on this paper due tomorrow. i've got it halfway done, i've got strong notes, and a potent ability to bullshit my way through, but... the act of writing with no real interest is just.. not holding my interest?

on a brighter note, even though i'm pretty sure i'm not in the honors college, i'll still be able to schedule some pretty sweet english classes next semester because the available ones are looking awesome: stuff like "the american novel 1900-1945" and american poetry of the same period. also, some scary/enjoyable stuff like "the english novel to austen" which would have me read fielding and sterne.. but in a more mature way.

my father sent me a valentine's day card. i don't really know how i feel about my relationship with him: i'm so glad to finally be able to see him and tell him i love him and call him dad, but.. on the other hand: am i setting myself up for a ton of pain? he's got very aggressive cancer - will it kill him before i can see the pride in his eyes as he walks his only daughter into a traditional wedding? i guess that's sort of a take-off from my positive rantings just a moment ago. i have the card he sent me strapped to my corkboard, the little enclosed piece with my name and a quotation from psalms sits in the front of a picture frame holding my matthew-pirate. i see both my father's love and my matthew's very different love whenever i sit at my desk.
i hope they both can stick around for a long time. ::kicks mortality::
::and fickleness::