Thursday, March 17, 2005

what i was doing.

while i was in the library this morning i kept a pretty close watch on the clock cause i had a paper due. yeah. my lazy ass went back to school.

so around 12:00, while i was freaking out about some paper and a stupid test, this kid across campus was busy killing himself. just a few buildings away and all. i thought, 'what a random time to kill yourself'. but maybe it wasn't random for him. maybe some really awful shit just happened. maybe he was really hungover. i certainly have entertained thoughts of self-murder while in the throes of a spectacular morning after. maybe he'd been anguishing over his decision for weeks, or maybe just the one night.

it doesn't matter i guess, but i can remember exactly what i was doing right before noon. i was looking at the clock thinking that if i didnt get my studying done before twelve, id just have to pack it in and start up on the paper.

and this is probably a dick thing to say, but im glad that ive gotten to the point in my life where im more afraid of delinquent assignments than of my own capacity for self-destruction.

i just wish the kid had given it some time and waited for things to get better. cause they always do.

Monday, March 07, 2005

FUCK

how in fuck does someone who used to be an english major find themself completely unable to write an eight page paper without getting donkey-raped by grammar and a complete lack of an attention span? bah.

why is writing crap i dont want to write about so hard. if this assignment were about farts and penises i would so get an A. farts and penises. where can i go to school for to write about that? why is there no center for learning for people such as me? why am i STILL writing a paper that was due last thursday ON MY FUCKING SPRING BREAK. im in an internet cafe right now in florida. looking out the window at children playing and sun shining and dogs frolicking and i am writing a goddamn ass-fucking soul-less paper.

and obviously updating a website that i never get around to updating anymore. PRO-CRAS-TI-NA-TION. its whats for dinner.