Yellow Tail

I'm trying to write an essay about how capitalism is problematic, specifically for Catholics. Why Catholics, you may ask? Because Weber talks about them, and I had to narrow down my thesis somehow. And I'm supposed to be one, right? So I may as well consider how capitalism affects people like me. I have one page of notes that I might be able to turn into a thesis and a rough outline, if I actually can concentrate on it. It's not due until Monday, so I technically don't need to do it tonight, so it's hard to focus. Plus it's a Saturday night. "Home with all my doors locked up tight, I won't be thinking about you, baby." It'd be nice to have someone to think about, or even someone to try not to think about--even if he depressed me with a complete lack of interest, at least I wouldn't be bored.

I've been ill entirely too much this quarter. Colds and earaches and headaches and food poisoning all in a sickly ghastly train. Maybe it has been the shock of feeling again, manifesting itself, a counter-reaction to a reaction. Feeling is, after all, a positive reaction, even if the feelings themselves are negative. Being numb, you lose out on so many emotions. It's inhuman not to be angry, or sad, or even manic depressive, once and a while. I've realized that this quarter--even bad feelings are good in the sense that they are alive. As for my illness--it's because a good thing should always come with a bad; otherwise it wouldn't be guaranteed that a bad would always be followed by a good, and my optimism would be destroyed.

I really think that all makes a lot of sense, but then, I am writing this after a glass and a half of Katie's white wine, so it's hard not to be optimistic. My cheeks are rosy and my head doesn't hurt anymore.

Yup... back to the paper.