--the narrator of "Fear of Flying," by Erica Jong.

Darn. I'm gonna have to clean my apartment. Just what I needed in the midst of the chaos.

See, there's this flexible pipe thingy that lets water into my toilet. A little while ago, I noticed that it was dripping water. I managed to put that out of my mind, as I had other things to worry about.

Well, it's just started spraying water hither and yon. So I've shut it down entirely for now. I haven't had a chance to look at it closely, but I figure the pipe will probably need to be replaced. Or perhaps a smaller spare part between it and the water valve. Either way, it shouldn't be hard, but it'll probably involve calling in my landlord (so he'll pay for it, not me), and I do not want my landlord seeing my apartment in its present state. Hence the need to clean.

Maybe I can hold off until after finals. They're approaching rapidly, after all... I could ferry the water from the shower to the toilet tank using a bucket in the meantime.

(I'd call in my brother and have him fix it for me, but he's moved to Connecticut. Inconsiderate of him, wouldn't you say?)

Painting class: Iffy. I'll be showing the professor what little I have of the semester's portfolio next week, and we'll see what happens from there. This is theoretically going to determine my final grade. Meep.

Drama class: Pretty good. The only course I can say that about.

Comedy class: Don't make me laugh. I've missed a lot of classes, and have shown up late to many more, and haven't exactly been the bubbling font of participation my professor had expected me to be. I've been doing okay on the tests, but that's only part of the grade. Participation's a major chunk of it, and I've been flunking that.

Provocative language tutorial: Hardly gotten off the ground. Anybody have a spare copy of Cunt: A Declaration of Independence, by Inga Muscio, that they don't mind lending for a week or two? None of the colleges in CUNY have it in their libraries (too recent, I figure), and the one copy in the Queens public library system is currently off the shelf, putting aside the matter of my overdue fines in the latter. I'm supposed to have written an essay on the term in question already, but it seems as if I'd be missing too much data if I tried doing so before reading this...

I've had three reasons for wanting to skip straight to the Ph.D.:

1. If I was gonna go for the Ph.D. anyway, I wanted to get it over with.

2. I stand a better chance of getting paid for slave labor as a doctoral student, while an M.F.A. would probably cost me a bundle.

3. I have had very mixed results in writing workshops: one really great experience, two nightmares. On the one hand, the one really great one was in non-fiction, while the other two were in fiction and poetry. On the other hand, I'm not certain that was the sole factor, or even the main one. That being the case, I'm afraid to risk going through another one, let alone committing myself to a program of study that'll require a bunch of them.

And I never really decided if teaching was what I wanted to do in the first place. While I know that whatever else I end up doing, I'm gonna want to continue to pursue being an essayist. Which aim might be better served with the M.F.A.

But perhaps not; a Ph.D. would give me more potential for structure, which I could use... I've gone off the freelancing idea in recent years; I don't think I have the self-discipline for it.

I dunno. I just don't know.

Our bill came out to a total of $6.66, including tax. "Obviously, we're going to hell," quoth I. So I circled the total in red ink, scribbling "AIIEEE!" next to it. You know.

'Course, then the waiter-person didn't come to pick up the money, which led to the creation of an impromptu sign pointing to the money, which was roundly ignored, but I'd need to scan it in for you to get the full effect, and I suspect you had to be there anyway.

Conversation is nice. I even learned about espresso! Not that I'm completely clear on the concept, not being a drinker of coffee in any form, but I can now differentiate between two different kinds of foam. You never know when that might come in handy.

And I love the soundtrack at the coffeehouse in question. Wall-to-wall cheesy '80s hits, my favorite music. I hadn't heard "Cold Hearted Snake" in such a long time...

Ah, well. Another reason to stick to Lynx, I suppose.

There's the quote in the sidebar, for starters. And this sentence, which sums up the condition of being a writer all too well. The narrator has just waved goodbye to her lover. She's sure that he's leaving her for good, and here's what happens next:

On the steamer from the Hook of Holland to Harwich, I stand in the mist and cry, thinking of myself standing in the mist and crying, and wondering if I will ever be able to use this experience in a book.

But I digress.

Hmm. Looking over my older entries just now, I find that I didn't get my state financial aid refund until late February last year. Not that I was eligible for it last year, which is why I returned it at the time, but this year I am eligible, and I've kinda been counting on it, and it's gonna take too long. Shoot. For some reason, I'd misremembered it as arriving in December.

...wait. So this means I have virtually no money, virtually no income, and will have to wait until February for my smallish student loan and my financial aid? Without even getting into the issue of those college application fees? Oh, good grief.

Maybe I oughta try one of those Café Press shops. I can see it now... "I HELPED PAY SHMUEL'S RENT, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT."

(No, I'm kidding. Although I kinda like the slogan. It has that mixture of offbeatness (if that isn't a word, it should be), recycled pop culture, and sheer desperation that characterizes this journal. All I need to do is find a way to include a four-letter word and a Yiddish expression, and I'll have all the bases covered.)

I have got to get back on payroll for that American Studies site.

'Course, that also means I have to get that American Studies site online, and take care of the paperwork, in the midst of the chaos.

I'm ready for that breakdown now, I think...