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I just had a startling experience a few minutes ago. I’d just gotten home from class, walked into the kitchen, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. Someone had broken into my apartment! I wasn’t sure how I knew, because I couldn’t quite tell what was wrong, but I knew. And then it hit me: the dishes were done. “Someone broke into my apartment!” I thought. “And did my dishes! Wait…”

It took me probably thirty seconds to remember that Dana had mentioned she’d be stopping by the apartment to use my computer. I guess she got bored or something. :) Either way, it was really sweet. Almost too sweet, in fact, because I just ~know~ that I wouldn’t have thought of that. She’s sweeter than me.

Okay, so we’re going to play good news, bad news, and you’re going to provide some advice at the end. Digg?

Good news: I got a call this morning from someone who saw my “looking for a roommate” sign and was interested.

Bad news: The call came in at 7:30am, when I was still in bed (sleeping in). Then they called back at 4:30pm, when I was in a meeting.

Good news: Finally talked to the guy at 7:30 this evening. He recently broke up with his girlfriend and is looking for a new place to live. His voice reminded me of southern Iowa: his accent was worse than my dad’s family’s. :)

Bad news: He’s older than my dad. In fact, he’s 50 (a young 50, he insists), which I think makes him about the same age as my dad’s older brother.

Good news: We’re meeting Thursday for lunch to see if this would even be conceivable. He does sound like a young 50 on the phone. His eldest son is a few years younger than me.

Bad news: I’m not even sure I want a roommate anymore. I’ve lived alone for three months now, and I’m graduating in less than two. Assuming I get a decent job after graduation, I’d be able to afford (and would probably even prefer) a place of my own.

Also, he’s older than my dad. Older. Than. My. Dad.

Can you tell what I’m thinking my biggest hang up will be? Yeah, it’s not the accent (though even that would be weird). What do I have in common with a 50-year-old blue collar guy? It’d be like The Odd Couple on steroids (or Blue Collar TV). They say 50 is the new 40 and all, but you know what? I’m thinking I wouldn’t want to live with a 40-year-old either.

*sigh* I don’t know. I’m meeting him for lunch because I don’t want to judge a book by its publishing date. I have 50 year old friends in the Graduate College. I have 39 ½ year old friends in the English department. But I probably wouldn’t bunk with them.

Thoughts?

I was working on the Habitat website early this morning, getting it ready for my usability tests today (don’t ask), and I realized I needed a fake testimonial (I’m planning on having a “testimonials” section on the final site) to see how the system would format them, etc, so on. So I logged in as a test user, went to the “create content” page, and just stared at the blank text box for a second.

See, this was about five minutes after I’d gotten out of bed, and I’d only gotten four hours sleep, and I hadn’t thought to get coffee just yet (proof of my debilitated state). Normally, when I need filler text, I just visit the Lorem Ipsum generator and get me some. Today, that thought didn’t even cross my mind. I needed text, so text I wrote. After my initial confusion as to what to do with a text box, I filled it up with a paragraph full of random words as they occurred to me. The result is the following, which I wittily (in my mind, at the time) titled “Test Imonial.”

Test Imonial

The blue cat waltzed downwards onto the blue-green stairs, lacksidasically. Three toed wonder, how the general missed your change that day I know not. Carbon sights with aching spires do pollute the evening air when carnivals come to town. Basement treasures, hidden twice and never found, haunt the time between hatred and forgiveness. Challenge everything, but nothing most of all.

I can’t decide if it’s the dumbest, or the deepest, thing I’ve ever written. I’m only positive it’s gotta be one of the two. :)

And now, I’m struggling to stay awake for a few more minutes as Dana’s on her way over to say goodnight. It’s only 10pm, I realize, but I’ve been struggling to keep my eyes open since 4pm, and I’m just about ready to give up. I guess I’ll just have to get up early and give this whole “day” thing another go.

How many panic attacks is one allowed in any given day before it should be considered a serious problem? I’m a little worried (panicked?) I’ve overstepped my quota.

It’s just been one of those days, I guess. Too many life-altering deadlines approaching in too small a span of time. A week from Friday (March 10th), I’ll be boarding my first transcontinental flight on my way to Seattle, with approximately seventy pounds of homework in tow. I’ll spend a week there peering over the top of my laptop at all of the cool things Seattle has to offer. When I return home (March 17th), I have six days to plan my conference presentation in Chicago before, you know, presenting it (March 23rd). The written portion of my creative component is due six days (March 29) after I present in Chicago. I have approximately two weeks from that point to prepare my defense of my work and get the website done before I have to go under the spotlight and actually defend my work (April 13th-ish). I have approximately a week from that point to make any alterations, additions, and deletions before I have to hand in a bound copy of my work (April 19th). Just over two weeks from then, I graduate (May 5th).

During the same time frame, I also get to:

• Design a 200-question survey, create an entirely new website for the Interdisciplinary Graduate Studies program, and document all of my work processes for the person who will replace me for the Graduate College
• Create a syllabus, design a 3-week technical communication class unit, write a 30-ish page annotated bibliography, and keep up with all my reading for my English 504 class
• Locate and apply for several positions, interview (hopefully) with several companies, and secure permanent employment
• Say sweet things to Dana every once in a while in the somewhat deluded hopes that she won’t have left me by mid-April in frustration

According to my schedule, I have to write 2-4 pages of content every single day (including travel days, weekends, presentation days, and so forth) just to finish on time, not counting time for editing. And, you know, I’ve gotta finish the website in there somewhere, too. Otherwise I have nothing to write about. It should be a fun month.

Stop the ride now, I want to get off. :)