Math Project- done and turned in.
Religion paper- final editing now. And may I just say, there is an unholy joy in being able to put Ibid in footnotes.
German paper- ain't touched it, must happen soon.
Latin exam- tomorrow morning
Greek Exam- Friday morning.

That's just so damned disappointing. "If given the chance, you will look like poop.

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All languages have a word for everything. Or they make one up soon thereafter. This is a stupid prompt.

I kind of really like Novalis.

I have a whole slew of meetings today with professors to talk about grad schools. This week, I should also get my ass down to the Center for Work and Service with some kind of an essay draft before I send it out to grad schools.

Gah, turning 22 this weekend. Too busy to move, honestly.

I went into the bookstore looking for "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" by John Boyne, which has reservations 10 deep at the public library, and I walked out with "Orcs" by Stan Nicholls.

Translation: I went to a store to by a book written from the perspective of a Nazi work camp commander's 8 year old son, and I walked out with a collected trilogy that re-tells a slightly twisted version of the Lord of the Rings from the point of view of the evil troops.

God, I think I must be going insane.

I also noticed the physical truth of the phenomenon that I hate so very much, which is that the "Sci-Fi/ Fantasy" section of the bookstore is devoid of the most famous authors of the genre, because good books cannot be called Sci-Fi. William Gibson, creator of the idea of cyberspace, geek extraordinary, was in with the rest of the un-genred fiction.

Ah, it is a dark day for my people.

Anchor Porter, my friends. Anchor Porter makes a happy girl.

The story of my current life, as told in action movies:

Announcer: *whispers* You were not ready for it. It came creeping into your life. The day has come and now...
Anouncer: * thunders like the wrath of Khan* YOU MUST APPLY TO GRAD SCHOOL.

/silly

I'm doing all the stuff I need to do- recommendation letters, noting deadlines, taking the tests they want- and it's kind of wearing on me. My project partner, who stirs up the instincts that most other people have for wounded birds and I have for thesising seniors, told me that I look tired and stressed out.

This is not to say that I am not on top of things, precisely. I've got four recommendation letters going for me, and another possible two (in addition, much more than I need). I took the GRE's, which did not give me good score, but gave me a score at least. I'm doing meetings with professors to talk and tell them about what I want with my life and why I want to study religion of all things, and how I am confused about going into the ministry or academics (the choice has been made for academics, mostly).

I am, in other words, getting my shit together and becoming publicly accountable for the hopes and dreams of all my professors who like me, and we shall see what happens.

I really, truly want to go to grad school and get to talk about religion and the human mind in my everyday life. That would rock every last ounce of my little socks.

I will get into grad school somewhere, I know. I just really want it to be the Divinity School at the University of Chicago or Harvard Divinity School because they are the best, and I want to BE the best and learn from the best.

*sigh* And life goes on around me. Mayhap this would have been easier if I had actually applied to colleges like a normal human, and not fallen in love with Swelles and gotten in Early Decision?

In the event that everything falls apart, I am also getting my resume together to look for a job. Yay jobs.

So, in the course of the last hour, the shape of my life has changed dramatically.

In chronological order, I re-discovered that the University of Chicago has a Divinity School of an incredible reputation. I also found out that their application deadline is in 6 weeks, and requires the GRE's.

My life now looks like this.
From now till Nov 11- work on the GRE coursebook that I bought today.

Nov 11th- Taking the GRE's all by myself in Boston like a big girl.

Nov 11th to Dec 15th- getting it all together, sending it out, waiting.

All of the following is written in standard English transcribed with the Ancient Greek alphabet. I have avoided sounds that the Greek alphabet does not have letter for, and stuck to the most common spellings of all words. (Note, Just because I am doing this quickly, I did not make a distinction between middle sigma (σ ) and final sigma. So sue me.) If you can follow, raise your hand.

σο, Ι θινκ θατ θισ ασ νοτ σο διφφικυλτ. βυτ θε αλφαβετ σκαρεσ πεοπλε οφφ γρεεκ, ανδ θατ μακεσ βεανιε σαδ.

θε κυικ βροων φοξ λεαπεδ ον θε φατ δογ ανδ θεν ατε ιτ αλλ θπ.

Now, why am I doing this? Because this actually scares people off from taking greek, and I think that's dumb. You know most of the letters in this alphabet, or the Latin cousin thereof, and it's not that hard to read.

I went out for pizza with my brother and sister to celebrate my brother turning 19. Just the three of us, and just sitting around and talking in Boston. Not bad way to spend the evening. After dinner, my brother drove me back to Swelles, where he charmed the pants off my floormates for being (OMGZ!!!11) a boy. A COOL boy. Then, we went meandering through the access tunnels that run underneath the school. Then we got tired, and went home.

This all confirms one thing that I have long believed- my siblings are awesome.

No, truly. Not just because they are my siblings, though that helps. It's honestly rather a pleasure to be related to them. Now that we've all reached legal adulthood, we've spent enough time in the world to realize that all the stuff that we thought made us *soooooo* different from each other as children, is really just small potatoes. We agree on the stuff that matters, and we have fun with each other.

It was also remarked upon by my floormates how completely unrelated my brother and I look. We are just about as different as two pasty white people can look, and yet we share 25% of the same genes. He's, at the latest measurement, 14 inches taller than me, narrow as a noodle, and has black hair where mine is light brown. People seem surprised we know each other.

You don't notice that we're related until we start talking. And then the listener realizes that me and my brother just had a conversation in which both parties used the phrases the phrases "yesternight," "hypochondriacal," and "the Prisoner's Dilemma," and we both answered questions with the phrase "I know not." The listener may then become suspicious, but it's usually only until the failed your-mom joke that they realize, "Wait. These two people *share the same mother*?" And it all becomes clear.

I never thought that I would find something about a foreign language that was more baffling than English, but the logic behind the morphology of the aorist tenses in Greek is just bewildering. I understand them, I can translate them, I can even write them: but understanding the mindset which created them may very well cost me my brain.

In other news, I finished Michael Crichton's "Airframe" this afternoon to discover that, as usual, I find myself refreshed and informed about an interesting subject, while enjoying an emotionally compelling narrative.

Why can this man not write all my text books? I would pay good money to see him turn my Statistics text into a murder mystery.

There's an extended passage of the novel that is so relaxing (deliberately so, I imagine), that I am heartily tempted to write it out here for your delectation. But as it runs to several short pages and I am on a library terminal procrastinating while I should be doing work, that will have to wait.