The Diary of Antoine Roquentin

This was a bit of an anti-climactic week. I expected to be pleased to hand in my story, but after thinking about it for a long time, there were so many problems with the story that I don’t know how to rectify without making it twice as long.

I suppose that’s why I didn’t do the final edit I wanted. It was a four-page minimum, and I had just hit my ninth page. I don’t even really understand the emotional state I was in when I wrote it. I especially don’t like the ending. But what’s done is done, and now that it’s turned in I can revise it in the way I want, not the way that narrow-minded but well-meaning professor wants.

I think I’m also miffed that I only got a 92% on our test. I was so worried about the essay that I didn’t study the vocab. So of course, perfect score on the essay, three wrong on the vocab. Whatevs. I don’t connect with this teacher anyway.

I’m also scared shitless by my Spanish midterm. I need to know all the irregular preterite verbs (there’s 25+) and all these grammar rules. I think I get the subjunctive, but it has its own arcane conjugation rules as well.

I’m on the train right now, I had to get the fuck out of there. I don’t have any friends there, so it’s like being in a prison: you get a library, and a gym, and classes. I think I’m also kinda down because I’ve been so poor. I’m officially not drinking in NY (unless it’s $2 beers in wburg) until midterms are over.

I feel offended when these douches from the dark wilds of New Jersey affectionately talk about “going” to the city and doing all sorts of fun stuff, like it’s their private Disneyland. I’m not sure why. I think it’s the fact that I view people who live in the burbs as having given up on a fun life in the city.

I’m not giving up.

Also, Hoboken is the next stop so I should go.