A 22-year-old experiential education facilitator by-way-of art school, employee of an Ivy, vegetarian, procrastinator, and rock-climbing wilderness first responder living in picturesque rural New Jersey. She's holding her breath as she tests her clumsy legs post-college.
Sometimes I do wonder how I even make it as a contemporary woman. I mean, I barely am capable of keeping my eyebrows shaped and trimmed. In the last few months I've worked hard to stop biting my nails as much, though they never are very long. So entrancing is the care and maintenance of nails that I can spend over an hour or two doing them when I have no other obligations. And, this being the first week of classes, obligations I have few.
Unfortunately, I am terrible at painting my nails. A (guy) friend of mine, astonished at my utter lack of fine motor control in this case, asked if he could sometime paint them, just to see if he could do any better.
Sure, give it a go, man. I mean, I'm not sure anyone could do worse than the job I do when I choose to polish them in a color.
I'm just about over the sickness I got the moment I left my folk's house, my room was super-clean and now the floor is buried under clothes and papers. I have two more classes on Monday, and am still trying to find one more job for the semester as a teacher's aid for foundation sculpture classes, which I've done for two semesters in a row now.
Funny enough, I wasn't made to feel stressed out by filling out my entire time-line for thesis in my day planner during class early today. I dropped off a copy of my higher ed resume for review by a member of staff here in student activities.
Right, darts night! Gonna go scrub up my hands and doll up and drift out!