So that last entry was my less-than-auspicious introduction. Now I want to talk about my day.
It didn't begin well.
I woke up to my screeching, bitchface alarm, which I have to physically get out of bed and walk across my room to turn off. This is so I won't simply shut it off from the warmth of my bed, immediately go back to sleep, miss all my classes, and fail at school/life/everything. That's fine in theory, but in reality I usually shuffle across the room groaning like a zombie, turn off the noise, and without ever opening my eyes crawl back in bed and doze off again for another half-hour or so. Then I wake up for real and still have plenty of time to get ready, so I should really just set my alarm for thirty minutes later, but actually adjusting the alarm seems like too Herculean a task to even contemplate.
The point is that this morning I did the whole shuffle-groan-turn-off-noise-crawl-back-in-bed routine, but I didn't wake up roughly half and hour later like I was supposed to. I woke up an hour and fifteen minutes later, which meant I had roughly ten minutes to skip my shower, find clothes that didn't smell like a nightclub (impossible, since I had stupidly tossed the jeans I wore to said nightclub in my closet and shut the door, so the smell had permeated every article of clothing I own), brush my teeth, feed my pets, find everything I needed for school (every book was in a different room of the house), and say goodbye to my mom so she didn't yell at me for ignoring her later on. On my way out the door I figured I'd save myself some time and money by grabbing a soda so I wouldn't have to buy coffee. I changed my mind about the soda when I almost grabbed the giant spider lurking on the handle of the refrigerator door instead. Then I felt nauseous.
Obviously all this took more than ten minutes, so by the time I swung my car out of my subdivision, making my own squealing-tires sound effects because it seemed appropriate, I had about thirty minutes to make the forty-five-plus minute drive to campus.
Miraculously, I arrived more or less on time for my first class, Ancient Greek, and was promptly slapped with a pop quiz. I got some questions wrong. Then my professor called on me to read my translation of the passage I hadn't even looked at because I had other things going on last night, like homework for all my other classes and watching the Hitler scene from Inglorious Basterds with various funny, made-up subtitles on YouTube. I had not volunteered to read the translation I didn't do, obviously, but my professor chose me anyway, like he thought I was a Pokemon and he was just going to let me faint in battle because I wasn't trained enough for this. Now he thinks I'm an idiot. I know he does, because after staring at me incredulously when I read my "translation," he shook his head and muttered something pejorative-sounding in Greek under his breath.
My other classes were either similarly disappointing or unexciting. I failed to complete my stakeout. I paid five dollars for coffee. And now I have a headache and two papers to write for tomorrow, and it's already 8:30.
Sometimes I think college is overrated. Especially since I'll be living in a box with or without my wildly useful Classics degree. Maybe it would be a nicer box if I had the degree. I don't know.
P.S. I realize I very casually mentioned that I went to a nightclub earlier. This may have given you the impression that I do stuff like that all the time, no big deal, but that impression would be wrong. In fact my social life borders on nonexistent, and I spent most of my time at that club hovering as close to the wall as possible, bobbing around lamely and wishing I could actually dance.
Just thought I'd clear that up.
P.P.S. I just got up for a second to close the blinds, since my mom asked me to and I'm a good daughter like that, and oh my god I just stepped on my brother's disgusting sweaty lacrosse kneepad gross oh my god get it off get it off get it off-
There. Wiped it on his bedspread. Problem solved.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Obligatory Intro Post: I'll Regret This Later
My decision to start this blog was largely the result of
1) the suggestion of one of my coworkers, Drew, who may have recommended it more out of the hope of redirecting my verbal barrages away from him and toward a virtual audience than the belief that I have anything worth blogging about; and
2) this, which I wrote in a blank text message document in a fit of boredom earlier today:
In retrospect, it was a stupid idea to sit up here without bringing anything to do. It's like going to a cafe on a blind date without bringing anything to read in case the other party doesn't show - you wind up twiddling your thumbs and feeling like every minute takes an unreasonable amount of time to pass.
I'm staking out my professor's office. It seemed like a logical course of action when I first realized she wasn't there, but it's been five minutes and I already feel like a psychopath.
Okay, trying to type out some weird kind of journal entry on my phone was a mistake. I lack the finesse necessary to type both quickly and accurately. But Jesus Christ, what do you expect? I'm not some kind of texting god.
Wait.
I just entirely stopped the presses, saved this to my Drafts folder, and lost whatever pathetic little train of thought I had going because I got a text. Which turned out to be from my mom. And consisted entirely of punctuation marks - a colon, a hyphen, and a closed parenthesis. :-), if you will. I'm not sure what
HOLY SHIT. If you turn it sideways it's a smiley face. An emoticon - light dawns.
Incidentally, are you familiar with this phenomenon? Emoticons happen when people send each other seemingly random combinations of punctuation marks, which aren't actually punctuating anything but rather represent various facial expressions. It's like a code. A code that could be broken by an infant with the motor skills required to turn an object sideways.
Personally, I think emoticons should only be used in special cases, in order to convey something too difficult to express in words alone. An example:
}:-)> = a goat. This can be used to indicate that the individual sending the message is a goat. A goat may not be able to express this verbally because do goats even have a sense of identity as a species? I don't know, I'm not the Goat Whisperer. Only the goats know.
That's the point when I felt too self-conscious to continue lurking around the department offices and left without ever speaking to my professor. Anyway, what I wrote seemed amusing at the time, and again when I reread it later, and I kind of wanted to pull somebody over to read it and say "Look what I did!" but you don't just yank random strangers out of their chairs and force them to look at your phone. But then I remembered Drew and what he said about these mystical "blogs" where you write whatever you want and people might read it and even respond.
So I made one. And that's the birth story of my blog. It would have been better if Drew's suggestion had smoothly wine-and-dined my brain, got my brain all tipsy and slutty because my brain's a lightweight, got lucky in the back of Drew's suggestion's Honda, and then nine months later this emerged and even though my brain had been considering giving it up for adoption, it decided to keep the blog after all.
Wow. That came out a lot creepier and run-on-sentence-ier than I originally intended. I didn't actually want to conjure up images of an idea date-raping a major organ.
But now I can't get the picture out of my mind.
...Oh god. What have I done?
1) the suggestion of one of my coworkers, Drew, who may have recommended it more out of the hope of redirecting my verbal barrages away from him and toward a virtual audience than the belief that I have anything worth blogging about; and
2) this, which I wrote in a blank text message document in a fit of boredom earlier today:
In retrospect, it was a stupid idea to sit up here without bringing anything to do. It's like going to a cafe on a blind date without bringing anything to read in case the other party doesn't show - you wind up twiddling your thumbs and feeling like every minute takes an unreasonable amount of time to pass.
I'm staking out my professor's office. It seemed like a logical course of action when I first realized she wasn't there, but it's been five minutes and I already feel like a psychopath.
Okay, trying to type out some weird kind of journal entry on my phone was a mistake. I lack the finesse necessary to type both quickly and accurately. But Jesus Christ, what do you expect? I'm not some kind of texting god.
Wait.
I just entirely stopped the presses, saved this to my Drafts folder, and lost whatever pathetic little train of thought I had going because I got a text. Which turned out to be from my mom. And consisted entirely of punctuation marks - a colon, a hyphen, and a closed parenthesis. :-), if you will. I'm not sure what
HOLY SHIT. If you turn it sideways it's a smiley face. An emoticon - light dawns.
Incidentally, are you familiar with this phenomenon? Emoticons happen when people send each other seemingly random combinations of punctuation marks, which aren't actually punctuating anything but rather represent various facial expressions. It's like a code. A code that could be broken by an infant with the motor skills required to turn an object sideways.
Personally, I think emoticons should only be used in special cases, in order to convey something too difficult to express in words alone. An example:
}:-)> = a goat. This can be used to indicate that the individual sending the message is a goat. A goat may not be able to express this verbally because do goats even have a sense of identity as a species? I don't know, I'm not the Goat Whisperer. Only the goats know.
That's the point when I felt too self-conscious to continue lurking around the department offices and left without ever speaking to my professor. Anyway, what I wrote seemed amusing at the time, and again when I reread it later, and I kind of wanted to pull somebody over to read it and say "Look what I did!" but you don't just yank random strangers out of their chairs and force them to look at your phone. But then I remembered Drew and what he said about these mystical "blogs" where you write whatever you want and people might read it and even respond.
So I made one. And that's the birth story of my blog. It would have been better if Drew's suggestion had smoothly wine-and-dined my brain, got my brain all tipsy and slutty because my brain's a lightweight, got lucky in the back of Drew's suggestion's Honda, and then nine months later this emerged and even though my brain had been considering giving it up for adoption, it decided to keep the blog after all.
Wow. That came out a lot creepier and run-on-sentence-ier than I originally intended. I didn't actually want to conjure up images of an idea date-raping a major organ.
But now I can't get the picture out of my mind.
...Oh god. What have I done?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)