Strange Lucidity
One good thing about being sick, or more aptly, the only good thing about being sick, is the freaky fever-induced dreams one gets to experience. Have a gander at this one:
Sean and I were vacationing in some evil-governed tropical locale, like Columbia or something. Presumably, we were visiting his older sister (note: he doesn't HAVE an older sister), who was living there with her litter of children.
Anyway. So, we're alternately backpacking through a lush tropical jungle and shopping for light fixtures in a gift shop (you know how these things make perfect sense in dreams....), when suddenly an olive-green jeep full of uniformed men pulls up. We were a bit startled, but the man who approached us seemed friendly enough. In a heavy accent, he asked if we were visiting for the first time. We replied that yes, we were. He then asked if we had seen the famous, rare Gimlet Bird that inhabited the areas (I don't actually remember what he called the bird, "gimlet" seems interesting enough). We said no, we hadn't.
So, the man proceeds to jiggle around some branches of a nearby tree and produce this bird straight out of something by Lewis Carroll. It was fushia, yellow, green, blue, orange...it had a little horn for a beak and little suction cups to help it climb the tree, Fairythin wings beat rapidly on his/her back.
Entranced, we watched the bird for some time. We thanked the man, and he excused himself. When we came out of our freaky Lewis Carroll bird reverie, the man was gone. It was then that I happened to glance at Sean's backpack, which was sitting open next to a tree (mine was still on my back).
It was filled with blocks of cocaine.
I gestured to Sean, trying not to appear alarmed. He looked over at the bag, then looked back at me with widened eyes. Recognizing that we were the victims of some kind of setup attempt, we turned tail and began to walk nonchalantly (so as not to draw attention to ourselves) out of the jungle/gift shop. At a distance, we could see the uniformed men shouting to each other; so we began to run.
As is typical of dreams, I couldn't run very fast. I remember telling Sean to go ahead as fast as he could, saying they wouldn't bother me because I was already wearing a backpack (not sure of the logic there, but anyway...). Reluctantly, he ran off, his purple-pink sweatshirt (of paintball fame) streaking through the forest.
Not sure how, but we ended up back at his older sister's house eating vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles (or "jimmies" to you Bostonians...) with her 6 or 7 children. Then, I realized I was late for my Social Marketing class group meeting, so I grabbed a calzone and headed for the library.
Whoa. That nyquil's some heavy stuff.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Overheard
This is a conversation going on right now in the neighboring cubicles. Sophie is Russian, and very impressed with her social standing, but in a funny way. Marie is NOT impressed with Sophie, and pokes fun at her a good part of the day.
Marie: I think I'm going to wear my bunny slippers to work tomorrow.
Sophie: Bunny slippers? What are these bunny slippers? Who wears these?
Marie: You know, bunny slippers. You don't have bunny slippers?
Sophie: (indignant) No. I have good slippers.
Marie: "Good" slippers?
Sophie: Yes, good slippers. They are made in Italy!
Marie: Are they made out of spaghetti?
*giggling*
These people crack me up some days.
This is a conversation going on right now in the neighboring cubicles. Sophie is Russian, and very impressed with her social standing, but in a funny way. Marie is NOT impressed with Sophie, and pokes fun at her a good part of the day.
Marie: I think I'm going to wear my bunny slippers to work tomorrow.
Sophie: Bunny slippers? What are these bunny slippers? Who wears these?
Marie: You know, bunny slippers. You don't have bunny slippers?
Sophie: (indignant) No. I have good slippers.
Marie: "Good" slippers?
Sophie: Yes, good slippers. They are made in Italy!
Marie: Are they made out of spaghetti?
*giggling*
These people crack me up some days.
Sick. And Pissy.
*sniffle*
If it weren't for the fact that I utterly cannot miss my Social Marketing class tonight (I'll be out of town next week...), I would have called in sick. But if you have to go out anyway....might as well have the cash from working. Not to mention that I had a short week last week and I'll have a super-short week next week. Hey, we pions don't get such luxuries as "sick time" or "vacation time" or "holiday pay".
So, here I sit, my glands swollen to the size of baseballs, my hair stubbornly sicking (Ha! I meant "sticking"! That was a Freudian slip!) to the damp, clammy skin of my neck. I'm out of coffee at home, so I'm slurping long-cold green tea. I'm also out of food at home (these things happen when other people insist on eating your food, but that's another story...), so for lunch (at work) and dinner (at school) today I brought a bag of banana chips, a granola bar, and some baby carrots. I'll likely be supplementing with a bagel, courtesy of Dunkin Donuts. I eat too damn many bagels. Of course, I wouldn't have this problem if the lunches and dinners and snacks I buy to get me through my hectic schedule didn't mysteriously disappear. I'm not really sure what happens to them, since both of my roommates blame the other. I'm thinking that perhaps there's a very small man with a very large appetite living under the sink. He seems to have a taste for Trader Joe's frozen biryani and cereal.
Well, ladies and gents, that paragraph should have been 2 paragraphs. But am I going to change it? No. I'm tired. And I guess I should start doing some sort of work. Blech. Ahh, phlegm, my long-lost friend, I embrace thee.
*Hack*
*sniffle*
If it weren't for the fact that I utterly cannot miss my Social Marketing class tonight (I'll be out of town next week...), I would have called in sick. But if you have to go out anyway....might as well have the cash from working. Not to mention that I had a short week last week and I'll have a super-short week next week. Hey, we pions don't get such luxuries as "sick time" or "vacation time" or "holiday pay".
So, here I sit, my glands swollen to the size of baseballs, my hair stubbornly sicking (Ha! I meant "sticking"! That was a Freudian slip!) to the damp, clammy skin of my neck. I'm out of coffee at home, so I'm slurping long-cold green tea. I'm also out of food at home (these things happen when other people insist on eating your food, but that's another story...), so for lunch (at work) and dinner (at school) today I brought a bag of banana chips, a granola bar, and some baby carrots. I'll likely be supplementing with a bagel, courtesy of Dunkin Donuts. I eat too damn many bagels. Of course, I wouldn't have this problem if the lunches and dinners and snacks I buy to get me through my hectic schedule didn't mysteriously disappear. I'm not really sure what happens to them, since both of my roommates blame the other. I'm thinking that perhaps there's a very small man with a very large appetite living under the sink. He seems to have a taste for Trader Joe's frozen biryani and cereal.
Well, ladies and gents, that paragraph should have been 2 paragraphs. But am I going to change it? No. I'm tired. And I guess I should start doing some sort of work. Blech. Ahh, phlegm, my long-lost friend, I embrace thee.
*Hack*
Sunday, November 17, 2002
Site Review
Here ya'll go--if you'd like a heads-up on the site I'll be reviewing for tomorrow's class, it's the website of the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry , part of the US Department of Health and Human Services. I'll post the entire site review after we go over it in class--or else I'd be wasting my breath, eh?
Here ya'll go--if you'd like a heads-up on the site I'll be reviewing for tomorrow's class, it's the website of the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry , part of the US Department of Health and Human Services. I'll post the entire site review after we go over it in class--or else I'd be wasting my breath, eh?
Friday, November 15, 2002
My Alter Ego?
I met my alter ego last night. Or at least, I fancy her as such.
I was walking through Chinatown on my way to class at Tufts, inhaling the smells of grease and soy sauce that tend to permeate the very air around NEMC, when she brushed past me. She was in a hurry, like me; and she looked a bit lost. For an instant, our eyes met in some sort of deeply human recognition of "kindredness", and then we were both gone.
I thought of her as I plodded on towards my class. Not just of her, but of the scores of people we pass every day and don't ever really "see"; and I wondered about her; about her life. She was wearing a mid-length dark trench coat, she was carrying a backpack. Her hair was babyfine blond; not oozing-with-self-confidence-I-paid-$100-at-james joseph-for-these-highlights blond, but the plain natural blond that nonhighlighters tend to have. What struck me most about her was that she was wearing a long, black skirt with a slit up the front, and as she hurried along she was furtively trying to hold it closed over her calf-high boots. I suppose the reason it struck me so was that it was so vulnerable, so not confident. If it were me, I would have let the slit snake up my thigh and walked along completely oblivious, or at least laughed at my risque skirt.
But, she didn't. I wondered how else we were different. Does she love oatmeal cookies, where I would gladly leave them alone? Does she drive a big luxury car, as I rush to catch the "T"? Is her favorite season summer? Does she love to knit? Does she loathe the feeling of warm, wet spring grass squishing between her toes? Is she a dog person or a cat person? New England or Manhattan clam chowder? Is she in love? Is she alone?
I decided that she loved the oatmeal cookies--fresh and hot from the oven with big soft raisins that burst in her mouth as she bites into them. Her car is something in the middle of economy and luxury, something nondescript like a honda or nissan. She likes summer because she likes the warm weather, but she doesn't like to go barefoot because it's "gross". She's a cat person (not just someone who happens to like cats and doesn't have time for a dog; like me; but a full-blown cat person), and she has a calico cat with a food name--like "Muffin" or "Cookie". She likes manhattan clam chowder. She's not in love. But, she's not alone, either.
I thought of her again after class, as I climbed hill after hill walking from the T stop to my apartment; exhaling streams of condensation in swirling clouds. I thought of the split second we looked at each other, recognition in our eyes; and wondered if she wondered about me--the girl with the thatch of red hair and the smattering of freckles, the glasses she hates but has to wear until she has time to get a contact exam perched on her nose, her hands lazily squeezing the gloves in her pocket. I had made all these snap judgements about her--that she lacked self-confidence, that she was quiet and gentle. What would she have thought of me? Me, who fancies myself a 'free thinker', clad completely in Abercrombie & Fitch (because their jeans are long enough, but that's another story...); who preaches about "health", as I slurp cup after cup of coffee....do I really fancy myself a more complicated person because I prefer autumn to spring? Am I deep, dark, and brooding because I don't like oatmeal cookies and had a pet ferret?
I didn't have time to really put as much thought into those issues as I would have liked. By this time I was nearly home. I let my scarf come unwound and flutter to my hips, its fringe tickling my fingertips; as I burst into the light of my apartment building, climbing the stairs towards my cat, my secondhand lamp, and the phone I'd use to call someone who loved me.
I met my alter ego last night. Or at least, I fancy her as such.
I was walking through Chinatown on my way to class at Tufts, inhaling the smells of grease and soy sauce that tend to permeate the very air around NEMC, when she brushed past me. She was in a hurry, like me; and she looked a bit lost. For an instant, our eyes met in some sort of deeply human recognition of "kindredness", and then we were both gone.
I thought of her as I plodded on towards my class. Not just of her, but of the scores of people we pass every day and don't ever really "see"; and I wondered about her; about her life. She was wearing a mid-length dark trench coat, she was carrying a backpack. Her hair was babyfine blond; not oozing-with-self-confidence-I-paid-$100-at-james joseph-for-these-highlights blond, but the plain natural blond that nonhighlighters tend to have. What struck me most about her was that she was wearing a long, black skirt with a slit up the front, and as she hurried along she was furtively trying to hold it closed over her calf-high boots. I suppose the reason it struck me so was that it was so vulnerable, so not confident. If it were me, I would have let the slit snake up my thigh and walked along completely oblivious, or at least laughed at my risque skirt.
But, she didn't. I wondered how else we were different. Does she love oatmeal cookies, where I would gladly leave them alone? Does she drive a big luxury car, as I rush to catch the "T"? Is her favorite season summer? Does she love to knit? Does she loathe the feeling of warm, wet spring grass squishing between her toes? Is she a dog person or a cat person? New England or Manhattan clam chowder? Is she in love? Is she alone?
I decided that she loved the oatmeal cookies--fresh and hot from the oven with big soft raisins that burst in her mouth as she bites into them. Her car is something in the middle of economy and luxury, something nondescript like a honda or nissan. She likes summer because she likes the warm weather, but she doesn't like to go barefoot because it's "gross". She's a cat person (not just someone who happens to like cats and doesn't have time for a dog; like me; but a full-blown cat person), and she has a calico cat with a food name--like "Muffin" or "Cookie". She likes manhattan clam chowder. She's not in love. But, she's not alone, either.
I thought of her again after class, as I climbed hill after hill walking from the T stop to my apartment; exhaling streams of condensation in swirling clouds. I thought of the split second we looked at each other, recognition in our eyes; and wondered if she wondered about me--the girl with the thatch of red hair and the smattering of freckles, the glasses she hates but has to wear until she has time to get a contact exam perched on her nose, her hands lazily squeezing the gloves in her pocket. I had made all these snap judgements about her--that she lacked self-confidence, that she was quiet and gentle. What would she have thought of me? Me, who fancies myself a 'free thinker', clad completely in Abercrombie & Fitch (because their jeans are long enough, but that's another story...); who preaches about "health", as I slurp cup after cup of coffee....do I really fancy myself a more complicated person because I prefer autumn to spring? Am I deep, dark, and brooding because I don't like oatmeal cookies and had a pet ferret?
I didn't have time to really put as much thought into those issues as I would have liked. By this time I was nearly home. I let my scarf come unwound and flutter to my hips, its fringe tickling my fingertips; as I burst into the light of my apartment building, climbing the stairs towards my cat, my secondhand lamp, and the phone I'd use to call someone who loved me.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
I'm Secretly a Burnout
Check this out!!! Put your site through the Slanger and they'll pull out the "real" drug meanings of your blogging words.
Check this out!!! Put your site through the Slanger and they'll pull out the "real" drug meanings of your blogging words.
Monday, November 11, 2002
Friday, November 08, 2002
Googlisms
Thanks to Mia for the link. Try it out! Who are YOU, really?
amanda is
amanda is an outdated version
amanda is lookin good
amanda is amazed
amanda is cool
amanda is by vixen69
amanda is the best
amanda is awesome
amanda is a vivacious young english diva girl
amanda is great
amanda is ready and waiting for your hard cock appetite for sex
amanda is a great show
amanda is the coolest and from mars
amanda is 5 stories tall and is one of the oldest buildings in my city
amanda is also part of the children’s clinic’s nutritional therapy outreach service which provides complementary medicine to residents of government
amanda is seeded 7 at toronto
amanda is a chocolate point siamese cat with stories
amanda is to instrument a large volume of ice with photomultiplier tubes
amanda is an enthusiastic honor
amanda is in good company wearing her mini dress in purple
amanda is an array of devices for detecting muons and neutrinos
amanda is a very devout christian
amanda is designed to handle large numbers of clients and data
amanda is optimized to take advantage of tape drives
amanda is still in a coma
amanda is the most academically successful of her friends
amanda is here
amanda is located on the west bank of the auglaize river
amanda is sooo funny sometimes
amanda is in good health
amanda is rather complex
amanda is a detector being constructed at the south pole
amanda is a bright
amanda is a film about an extraordinary horse and a boy named biddle
amanda is the heir apparent
amanda is very low
amanda is caught up in the american war of independence
amanda is well mannered
amanda is furious at finding out the news about her father's remarriage from a complete stranger
amanda is set up in a georgetown mansion to entrap a fast
amanda is a network backup utility
amanda is demonstrating normal maternal care by holding and cleaning her baby
amanda is a little panda bear who lives in the forest
amanda is eating super blue green algae
amanda is good
amanda is proud
amanda is our oldest child
amanda is spunky
amanda is a 13 year old teenager
amanda is also available for stimulating keynotes and workshops which bring a deepened state of awareness to the workplace
amanda is hot?
amanda is no exception
amanda is the only person in the room
amanda is 9 years old
amanda is kinda happy now
amanda is extremely giving to her fans
amanda is 16 years old and lives in arizona and is quite used to the blazing heat
amanda is conservative
amanda is very excited and surprised
amanda is presently a graduate student in education at lemoyne college in syracuse
amanda is the story
amanda is one of the more recent female pop idols that have been springing up ever since the spice girls hit it big
amanda is ready and waiting for your hard cock hot candy asian angels group hug
amanda is so not funny
amanda is finally coming home to the doulton family estate; but is she really amanda?
amanda is beautiful
amanda is from texas
Thanks to Mia for the link. Try it out! Who are YOU, really?
amanda is
amanda is an outdated version
amanda is lookin good
amanda is amazed
amanda is cool
amanda is by vixen69
amanda is the best
amanda is awesome
amanda is a vivacious young english diva girl
amanda is great
amanda is ready and waiting for your hard cock appetite for sex
amanda is a great show
amanda is the coolest and from mars
amanda is 5 stories tall and is one of the oldest buildings in my city
amanda is also part of the children’s clinic’s nutritional therapy outreach service which provides complementary medicine to residents of government
amanda is seeded 7 at toronto
amanda is a chocolate point siamese cat with stories
amanda is to instrument a large volume of ice with photomultiplier tubes
amanda is an enthusiastic honor
amanda is in good company wearing her mini dress in purple
amanda is an array of devices for detecting muons and neutrinos
amanda is a very devout christian
amanda is designed to handle large numbers of clients and data
amanda is optimized to take advantage of tape drives
amanda is still in a coma
amanda is the most academically successful of her friends
amanda is here
amanda is located on the west bank of the auglaize river
amanda is sooo funny sometimes
amanda is in good health
amanda is rather complex
amanda is a detector being constructed at the south pole
amanda is a bright
amanda is a film about an extraordinary horse and a boy named biddle
amanda is the heir apparent
amanda is very low
amanda is caught up in the american war of independence
amanda is well mannered
amanda is furious at finding out the news about her father's remarriage from a complete stranger
amanda is set up in a georgetown mansion to entrap a fast
amanda is a network backup utility
amanda is demonstrating normal maternal care by holding and cleaning her baby
amanda is a little panda bear who lives in the forest
amanda is eating super blue green algae
amanda is good
amanda is proud
amanda is our oldest child
amanda is spunky
amanda is a 13 year old teenager
amanda is also available for stimulating keynotes and workshops which bring a deepened state of awareness to the workplace
amanda is hot?
amanda is no exception
amanda is the only person in the room
amanda is 9 years old
amanda is kinda happy now
amanda is extremely giving to her fans
amanda is 16 years old and lives in arizona and is quite used to the blazing heat
amanda is conservative
amanda is very excited and surprised
amanda is presently a graduate student in education at lemoyne college in syracuse
amanda is the story
amanda is one of the more recent female pop idols that have been springing up ever since the spice girls hit it big
amanda is ready and waiting for your hard cock hot candy asian angels group hug
amanda is so not funny
amanda is finally coming home to the doulton family estate; but is she really amanda?
amanda is beautiful
amanda is from texas
Thursday, November 07, 2002
Aerosmith
Why would anyone ever title a song "Falling in Love is Hard on the Knees"?
Do they not REALIZE what that sounds like? And c'mon now, on whose knees is that hard? Methinks Steven Tyler's knees would likely remain intact.
Well, that is, if he even was the one falling in love in the first place.
Why would anyone ever title a song "Falling in Love is Hard on the Knees"?
Do they not REALIZE what that sounds like? And c'mon now, on whose knees is that hard? Methinks Steven Tyler's knees would likely remain intact.
Well, that is, if he even was the one falling in love in the first place.
Monday, November 04, 2002
Ahh, "testing". One of my favorite topics. When you're a marketing-type person, you have to have a feel for the right and wrong way to run focus groups and other program/project evaluations. However, I had failed to recognize that there IS a definitive difference between "focus groups" and "usability testing". I confess, I had assumed that they were a different name for the same beast, much like "kitty" and "cat".
Well, apparently I was wrong, wrong, wrong. They're far from being the same animal, and what's more it seems that usability testing is a much simpler animal (perhaps comparable to an amoeba rather than a cat). You don't really seem to need too many participants, much less the degree of expertise required to facilitate a successful focus group. And hey, the next chapter even promises to give the deets on how to accomplish a usability test! Yay!
Ok, that was way too much enthusiasm. We will now return you to your regularly scheduled apathy.
Well, apparently I was wrong, wrong, wrong. They're far from being the same animal, and what's more it seems that usability testing is a much simpler animal (perhaps comparable to an amoeba rather than a cat). You don't really seem to need too many participants, much less the degree of expertise required to facilitate a successful focus group. And hey, the next chapter even promises to give the deets on how to accomplish a usability test! Yay!
Ok, that was way too much enthusiasm. We will now return you to your regularly scheduled apathy.
Sunday, November 03, 2002
Wow. I wish i had this much time to blog. you have some interesting sentiments to share. so fictional and descriptive, and full of personality. My creativity is sadly on hold whilst i attempt to maneuver through the thick mire of work and school and dealing with the things life throws at us. whew! keep blogging away, girl. gives me something to look forward to reading. :)
personally, I like sundays. quiet 'cause the roommates are usually at work or out, and, although i hate looking ahead to monday, I enjoy getting up in the mornings early (well, earlier than on saturdays, anyways), and having the whole day to just do whatever. although I never seem to use my time too wisely, but i like at least thinking i can get something accomplished. *sigh* *sigh again*. see you monday.
personally, I like sundays. quiet 'cause the roommates are usually at work or out, and, although i hate looking ahead to monday, I enjoy getting up in the mornings early (well, earlier than on saturdays, anyways), and having the whole day to just do whatever. although I never seem to use my time too wisely, but i like at least thinking i can get something accomplished. *sigh* *sigh again*. see you monday.
Quiet Sunday Thoughts
Well, not THAT quiet---my blogging activity today takes place with a soundtrack of Sean's mp3's--the rolling, soaring, stumbling melodies of Portishead, Hooverphonic, the Cure.
It's always kind of strange being at Sean's without him--I always have this nagging feeling that I'm going to round a corner and find him sprawled on the bed or the couch, his hair spilling all around him in rich brown ringlets, his eyelashes fluttering innocently in sleep.
But not today. He's off to a martial arts seminar, leaving me to contemplate such varied topics as the meaning of life, how the hell I'm going to get my Social Marketing project finished, and whether or not I should have a fourth cup of coffee.
Anyway, it's strangely quiet here without him. I keep looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to have an audience as I cross and uncross my legs, push stray strands of morning-tousled hair behind my ears, absentmindedly nibble at one of my remaining long nails.
I'm not a fan of Sundays. I haven't really been in ages. When I was waiting tables, Sundays were an "amateur day"--meaning meager tips and people just plain unaccustomed to the schemas and scripts of visiting a restaurant. Now, Sundays are just a paper-thin sheaf of time between Saturdays (the one day I don't feel pulled in 20 directions at once) and Mondays (which marks the beginning of yet another hectic week...). I know how silly that sounds, that I actually spend an entire day dreading the upcoming week. But every passing minute on Sundays serves to remind me that I am hopelessly backlogged, that there is far more to accomplish before the semester's end than I'll ever have time to accomplish, that nothing I am doing pleases anyone anymore because I'm doing it all half-assed.
The hopelessness of the situation amuses me some days. I have two huge group projects this semester, and in one of them a group member is trying to ascertain everyone's schedule so she can figure out the "best" time to meet.
Ha!
I guess I forgot to inform her that I would be the token slacker in the group this time (which is funny, since usually I'm the one who does the majority of group projects...), that I didn't have a snippet of time to spare. I should have downloaded the epidemiological statistics program weeks ago. I just...haven't. And group meetings? My god, the only night I get home before 10 or 10:30 pm is Wednesday, and that's just because I go into work at 7 so I can leave at 3; thus giving me ample opportunity to do a few hours' work for my assistantship. I guess that leaves weekends, when I can't seem to bring myself to do any work because the though of it just plain sickens me--writhing in my stomach like a thousand hungry worms.
How did I get here? I was that undergrad who obsessed about her field of study, writing pages and pages of eloquent, factual prose for papers; researching in my spare time just for pleasure.
I got a "B" on a paper last week. A "B". I haven't gotten a B since what, high school? I just shrugged sadly at it, slid it into my folder, and went home; hoping beyond hope that neither of my roommates would be around so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone and could just go to bed.
But, I digress. In summation, let us just say that I've been scratching off the days of the semester for ages, and when it ends I won't be a bit sorry.
Until then, you can find me huddled at Sean's, pretending that I can hide out from the piles of work and piles of drama that await me when I carefully pull his door shut, set out for the bus stop, and head home with my sleep-deprived head in my hands.
Well, not THAT quiet---my blogging activity today takes place with a soundtrack of Sean's mp3's--the rolling, soaring, stumbling melodies of Portishead, Hooverphonic, the Cure.
It's always kind of strange being at Sean's without him--I always have this nagging feeling that I'm going to round a corner and find him sprawled on the bed or the couch, his hair spilling all around him in rich brown ringlets, his eyelashes fluttering innocently in sleep.
But not today. He's off to a martial arts seminar, leaving me to contemplate such varied topics as the meaning of life, how the hell I'm going to get my Social Marketing project finished, and whether or not I should have a fourth cup of coffee.
Anyway, it's strangely quiet here without him. I keep looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to have an audience as I cross and uncross my legs, push stray strands of morning-tousled hair behind my ears, absentmindedly nibble at one of my remaining long nails.
I'm not a fan of Sundays. I haven't really been in ages. When I was waiting tables, Sundays were an "amateur day"--meaning meager tips and people just plain unaccustomed to the schemas and scripts of visiting a restaurant. Now, Sundays are just a paper-thin sheaf of time between Saturdays (the one day I don't feel pulled in 20 directions at once) and Mondays (which marks the beginning of yet another hectic week...). I know how silly that sounds, that I actually spend an entire day dreading the upcoming week. But every passing minute on Sundays serves to remind me that I am hopelessly backlogged, that there is far more to accomplish before the semester's end than I'll ever have time to accomplish, that nothing I am doing pleases anyone anymore because I'm doing it all half-assed.
The hopelessness of the situation amuses me some days. I have two huge group projects this semester, and in one of them a group member is trying to ascertain everyone's schedule so she can figure out the "best" time to meet.
Ha!
I guess I forgot to inform her that I would be the token slacker in the group this time (which is funny, since usually I'm the one who does the majority of group projects...), that I didn't have a snippet of time to spare. I should have downloaded the epidemiological statistics program weeks ago. I just...haven't. And group meetings? My god, the only night I get home before 10 or 10:30 pm is Wednesday, and that's just because I go into work at 7 so I can leave at 3; thus giving me ample opportunity to do a few hours' work for my assistantship. I guess that leaves weekends, when I can't seem to bring myself to do any work because the though of it just plain sickens me--writhing in my stomach like a thousand hungry worms.
How did I get here? I was that undergrad who obsessed about her field of study, writing pages and pages of eloquent, factual prose for papers; researching in my spare time just for pleasure.
I got a "B" on a paper last week. A "B". I haven't gotten a B since what, high school? I just shrugged sadly at it, slid it into my folder, and went home; hoping beyond hope that neither of my roommates would be around so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone and could just go to bed.
But, I digress. In summation, let us just say that I've been scratching off the days of the semester for ages, and when it ends I won't be a bit sorry.
Until then, you can find me huddled at Sean's, pretending that I can hide out from the piles of work and piles of drama that await me when I carefully pull his door shut, set out for the bus stop, and head home with my sleep-deprived head in my hands.
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