Fuck It, I'm Missing My First Class Anyway

8:30 classes once a week are not meant to be attended. Especially when they're just a bunch of physicists jibbering about gravity waves and other things that are not, really, that important in the grand scheme of things. This is why I'm getting out of physics. I'm expected to care about gravity waves and dark matter--things that probably don't exist. Or if they do exist, are just a mathematically convenient way to think about real things. It gets to the point where you can't tell convenience from reality, and that bugs me.

Also, I couldn't find any underwear I wanted to wear today. I'm not in the mood for underwear that will jump up the end of my digestive tract, nor am I in the mood for underwear seemingly designed without thought for female anatomy, so that it cuts off circulation in one or both of my legs, or is lined in such a manner that I wonder if I am abnormal and most women have vaginas coming out of their belly buttons or anuses.

To top it all off, I dreamed (kind of) about Mark last night. Specifically, I dreamed that I was in Charlottesville with a bunch of people from Case and my high school, and I ran away from them to find him. When I did, he asked me to move in with him, and I told him he was the only person in the world I'd do that for. And then I ran away from him and found a burrito shop that made massive burritos with tons of salsa--you couldn't even get them closed, the workers just kind of lumped them together and threw all the edges on top of the pile inside. Someone ordered a corn burrito, and then I woke up.

I'm by no means a prude--I've done a lot of things with what some might consider a lot of people. But I'll never live with anyone until I'm married. Not for any moral reason, although it probably wouldn't be worth the constant hounding to "just get married" I'd get from my family. It's just that I'd like one thing to be unique to my marriage. Because of the rape issue, it's sure not going to be sex. If things had gone differently, maybe, although I can't see myself really having that kind of willpower. Living together just seems like a nice, kind of old-fashioned thing to save. It's not so terrribly important that it'll wreck a relationship--after all, R and I see each other every day, he's held my hair for me while I puked, I've seen him as angry as he's ever been; there's not a whole lot more to learn if we shared living space.