I was­n’t going to write today, but the gen­tle light from the set­ting sun, along with the mild, wind­less chill, has affect­ed me in such a man­ner that I wish only to speak of the bound­less beau­ty that the weath­er can pro­vide. I’m remind­ed of the spring walks home from Ashley’s house, feel­ing the cool air through my hair with the pale orange sky above my head. Pure con­tent­ment.

Progress on my essays has not been going well. I have spent the last half week on geol­o­gy, and still have less than two pages done. I wish the ter­mi­nol­o­gy was­n’t so mar­ket based. Fuck.

I was able to go rock climb­ing for a sec­ond time with Trolley, Cristina, Aaron, Wheaties, Nick, Greg, Amanda, and Simon. It was great to have so many peo­ple go at once, so that we could just won­der around and see how oth­er peo­ple were doing. I was able to scale three more walls that I was­n’t able to last time, which were all 5.6’s. The tips of my fin­gers were raw at the end from belay­ing so much. My fore­arm strength is cur­rent­ly the first thing to give, so I was­n’t very sore the next day. We head­ed out to Perkins after and pigged out on good food. What a great fuck­ing time.

I was able to ask Simon about his tongue stud, and he told me that out of all the pierc­ings he’s had (ears and eye­brow), the tongue was the least painful by far, due to the fact that the nerve end­ings are all on the sur­face of the tongue. Once the spike goes through the tongue, noth­ing is felt after­wards. New infor­ma­tion that I’ll have to con­sid­er.

Tuesday. Brideshead Revisited. Jeremy Irons is one sexy, sexy man.

Dolores has been extra cud­dly these last few days, and I’ve been wok­en up by her turn­ing a few times, before nestling on my legs or stom­ach. I feel bad that I feel so con­strict­ed every time she set­tles down, caus­ing me to toss and turn. It’s as if itch­es only come once a cat has found a pil­low in your lap.