December 13, 2004 :: 1:45 p.m.
you can't have "manslaughter" without "laughter"
How is it that I can be so very, very bored and yet at the same time unable to make myself do anything else? Like, say, watch a movie or read a book or continue in my quest to master barre chords. Or finish my 2D project. Or get my stuff for Friday's final photo critique together. Or, I don't know, take a nap. It's like I'm so mesmerized by the boredom that being un-bored seems, perhaps, undesirable. Or at least unusual. It's bizarre.
But I am going to take a walk after I finish this, even though what I'd really like to do is find someplace to jog. The sidewalks of Lancaster just won't do. Too many people watching me sweat like a spit-roasted swine. Also, concrete is like the worst surface ever to run on, and since my ankle is still (nearly 4 months later, thankyouverymuch) somewhat up with the fucked I don't think that's such a good idea. And I'm entirely too lazy to find a park to run in, let alone drive there, so a walk it is. Hopefully it will be soothing and enjoyable and not start snowing on me. Which it probably won't. Adam called earlier and said that it was snowing in Harrisburg, but it's too warm here I think. 42 or something. But you never know. Snow is evil that way.
Actually, I doth protest a bit too much. I could go for a little snow. Maybe it'd help put me in the holiday spirit. Or maybe it'd just make me cold. Either way, it makes loafing inside with hot tea and 7 seasons of Buffy seem a lot less lazy and a lot more appropriate.
Oh, right. The whole reason I started this thing. I had Western Art this morning, and oh... oh. Just, oh. I wanted to kill people. It would have soothed me, I think. Why? Because my teacher is the largest douche bag ever to befoul the planet earth. I cannot stand this man. I want to kick him until he cries. Cassie suggested the shins, because it's funny... but I think I can find a more appropriate target.
But again, why? Yeah, okay. We took our final last Wednesday. Our final. Take a moment to deal with that word. It called a final for a reason, right? 'Cause it's the last thing you do. Well, apparently not. Not only do we still have class this week, but we had to do this stupid self-test thing that he took out of the book. A self-test. I have another word for that, especially, oh, after the final exam. It's called busy work, you fucknut. And I hope you paper cut yourself to death on it. Possibly slip and slice your jugular open on one of those sharp edges.
GAH. I hate busy work. Hate hate hate. Especially in college. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? You're done teaching, dude. You have nothing else to say. Don't make me come to an 8 o' clock class and fill out a bunch of busy work just because you ran out of shit to say. Just end the damn class. Jesus.
Ahem. Breathe. Breathe. I am perhaps a little too irritated by this. It's just... severely annoying. But it'll be over soon, and hopefully I won't see His Royal Douchitude again until at least next fall, if not beyond. Or I could get extremely unlucky and have him for whatever art history I'm taking next semester. But I'm trying to be optimistic, because otherwise my fingers start itching to grab a razorblade and commit pre-emptive suicide. Or, you know, blow up his car. With him in it. Which would be more fun, but less legal.
Anyway, walk time. I'll update later.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005