Squeezed in between pictures of Yesung and Novak Djokovic and other residents of my metaphorical closet is a countdown to how many days I have until first semester of senior year is over. It currently stands at...17. Which really isn't that bad, except for the whole thing with finals and projects and papers and whatnot. I think I might survive, you know: One paper, one final that doesn't really count, a presentation, an in-class exam, another final, and a project? Maybe I won't die? Maybe? Praying to end-of-semester gods now.

Of course, rewarding me from dying is the (hopefully, knock on wood now) college acceptance letters coming my way mid-December, and a trip to Florida to communicate with manatees, tan, swim, and whore up the local internet cafe for my own sanity. Or maybe they have a Panera by now, because that's free and I have a gift card for food. mmmm.

In other exiciting news, I have officially given back to fandom! Hooray, I'm no longer another stalker. Apparently SHINee inspires me: I've written some fic (all posted to chagrinning ) and planning on writing more, you know, when this whole 17 days thing blows over. Surprisingly, people appear to like the things I write, which I am eternally grateful for. Knowing I don't fail and actually know my way around fandom after six months is always good. :) I might get the confidence to (gasp!) comment on the fics of others, especially those people whose fics I've been stalking since...entry into fandom. D: Yeah, I will start doing that. Okay we can? 

LOL PLAXICO BURRESS. I wish there were pictures online of him clubbing that I could macro, which is probably mean and all, but come on. You're injured, so you go clubbing instead of, you know, resting the injury. And then you bring a gun...and accidentally shoot your OWN LEG. You're asking for it, really, even if I owe your team an eternal debt for beating the devils Patriots. Actually, he had nothing to do with Manning-to-Tyree, so he's probably excluded from the eternal debt as is. Just...being a sportswriter is going to require me learning to not crack up in the middle of press conferences about incidents like this. I guess I have five more years to learn to bite my tongue.