Went to class late, left early. Dozed and journaled. I might be sorry that I was late; this time I actually care enough to fill out a nasty instructor evaluation, and I might have missed the opportunity. I might as well live.

Talked to a financial aid counselor who said I'm close to losing my scholarship, but not so close as I'd previously thought. Ran errands for the rest of the day; tried to pick up a graded paper from a prof who was consistently not in his office (car trouble; previously, he brought the wrong papers to class; it's comforting to know that even responsible, intelligent adults act like complete chuckleheads at times).

The buckle came off the left of my favorite pair of shoes last week. I left them to get repaired today in a particularly, impressively friendly downtown shop, then wandered into the bookstore next door. Didn't buy anything; I lurk in bookstores like dirty old men lurk in playgrounds.

Back to campus to look for my still-absent prof and still-missing paper. Then I backtracked across campus to home. My feet and ankles hurt. I miss my other shoes.

Listened to a mix tape from Selena and attempted to nap. Flirted. Studied. Worried. Dinner.

Miss, miss, miss.