i never knew that faulkner had dogs

i have pretty much decided to let the whole grad school thing go. feels funny writing that. well, unless i get that grant that would feed me next year. i would like to finish, in a perfect world, but take this afternoon for example: i tried to work on it for about thirty minutes and it was so upsetting that i barely escaped xanax and bed. i'm stitching now and mostly calmed down. just how long am i going to whine about this? i am generally content, when i'm not wasting my short days complaining about this, so why not focus on other, more interesting things? Like, for example, the amazing work of Summer Zickfoose? found through Joetta Maue (btw i just bought one of her pieces and i am pretty freaking psyched).

i mean, to quote my friend quoting larry david, it's not the manhattan project. or to reference faulkner referencing shakespeare and macbeth:

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

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