It's funny because it's true...

I just took an online quiz that says that I am a "tortured intellectual hipster" and that I wish I could die and return as Jack Kerouac. Interesting...

Yes, I have too much to do to be writing this. Yes, I should be thinking about Conrad and terrorism and colonialism and all manner of -isms. But I'm not. Why? I seriously do not feel like it. I just wrote a response paper on an imagist poet that is about as coherent as an episode of Saturday Night Live. Seriously. I've intellectualed out. No more. Please, massa, no mo.

So, because of this, I'm going to be up until God knows what time, writing and rewriting and whatever, and all of the time consoling myself with the fact that on Sunday I will be on a plane headed for NY and all will be ok. And then I will be on a plane headed to San Francisco, and things will be even better. Sigh...

But the present sucks. Totally sucks. I wish I could be like my lovable fiance who always has 1.75 eyes planted firmly on the future. Seriously. The man lives on half-baked plans, and what-could-be's, and doesn't seem to let anything bother him. Like last night. I was laying on him and we were talking and I said something like, "Why do we have to talk about this now? I mean, it's not happening yet, so what's the point?" And he says, "Well, Morgan, right now you are breaking my arm, but in the future, my arm will already have healed. So it's a matter of pain management." Seriously. Leave it to Matt to make unpractical idealism seem logical.

But it just sucks, because I am the writer, the creative person, the whatever. I should be idealistic. But I'm not. I grow more cynical with each passing day. It sucks. I blame Milton, and Graham Greene and The Decembrists (why is it that good bands these days insist upon having a definite article in their name--sheesh).

I should go. I want Prof. Anemone to still think I am cool, so I must write and be analytical and whatever. Have an idealistic un!