Sitting here reading about 19th century art, I can't stop thinking about the upcoming interview.
Something about it kills me. Not knowing the day, the time, whether I'll have to tell my professors or not... I hate not knowing. I will admit that there are a few handfuls of moments which are special enough to be surprise worthy but this is not one of them.
I wish I could wake up knowing that in x amount of days, hours, and minutes, my husband will have his interview and [hoping for the best] will be here with me. Here. I know you're probably sick and tired of reading how I miss my husband and most of you have probably stopped reading by now. Sorry world. This just makes my stomach hurt. I can't seem to turn my mind off or even distract it from this one event.
Oh and to the author of the book I'm reading, you're book is boring. No one cares who now owns the statue of Napoleon as Mars. Just saying...