I always get the blues at the end of a semester. Blues mixed with relief, but blues nonetheless. I think it’s mostly about losing the structure. I have no idea what to do with myself. Blah!
I want to go out & do something social. Where do quiet, still-waters-running-deep, intellectual-type homos hang out? Hmph. Or even friendly, progressive, and sane; straight, bi, or lesbian people. Meeting introverts is always a pain. Even, and perhaps especially, for other introverts.
Giving up on the conundrum, I could head to dreamhaven or play a game of San Juan with
Dreamhaven would have been cool last night, since I’m on the Bujold kick lately. She was reading there. Two blocks from my house. Oh well. I really did need to go to that econ review session.
Meeting introverts is always a pain. Even, and perhaps especially, for other introverts.
That’s a good question. Over a cup of tea and an episode of Futurama? Oh, if only the world were so perfect…
You lost 30 to 37.
You no longer have cause for yay.
You meet them in my bedroom. Er, that wasn’t supposed to be a sexual inuindo.
Right on the mark!
I always get the blues at the end of a semester. Blues mixed with relief, but blues nonetheless. I think it’s mostly about losing the structure. I have no idea what to do with myself. . . . I want to go out & do something social. Where do . . . intellectual-type homos hang out?
You have described exactly how I feel currently.
Today was the last day of school for the quarter. I felt upset having failed my Finals and currently growing depressed at not having any academic structure or activity to do. During this recent quarter, I was super busy with no time for relaxing and enjoying the odd reading or emailing (hence my catching up on my Live Journal reading and writing).
The air is dead and the campus is like a ghost town. Soon a blanket of calm boredom will cover Westwood and for two weeks, there will be nothing to do by way of school, student newsmagazine, student orgs, outreaching, or anything. Just utter silence, boredom, and free time to do . . . to do what, alas, that is the question.