Time to sing emo songs and find more clean hankies, for your dar(l)ing correspondent is only average and like bajillions of other twenty-somethings, cannot find her place in the world of thoughts. The things she is fit and suited to do are not things which will support her house-dwelling or food-consuming habits, and the things she can do that would support her would also shrivel her soul into something pale and hungry. It's all a fairly simple dilemma, you know, and I'd like the sound of the acoustics if I didn't have to pay so much for it.
So, I can make pumpkin bread and do bits in Old English. That covers my competency game for the day. (The Old English exam was made VERY simple for us.)
Sometimes it just takes reminding myself that happiness is an externally motivated emotion, and that peace is something internal that I control. My limits and boundaries (elsewhere discussed) don't need to come into question every time I fail myself. It's all really very funny, the way I can see myself reacting to events.
Time to go hunt and gather a sandwich and a smoothie. And then to The Cretin for flowery tales of Courtly Luv. Please have the first billion pages of the Servian Commentary translated and in to me by Wednesday, and also . . . if you could pick up a copy of the long-lost non-existent copy of Donatus from a second-hand shop, it might be some nice secondary source material.