Saturday, July 27, 2002
It makes me sick.
When you have to choose between going hungry for another two hours or going to class late for 15 minutes to satisfy the cravings of your stomach, your answer should always be GO TO CLASS. Choose your class. Everytime.
I had a 3:00 pm class today. By 2:50, however, my stomach was in knots, demanding that I eat at least something. I hadn't eaten lunch because I had to cram, so you can imagine how hungry I was then. I figured that I could go to the canteen, grab a few quick bites, and just go to class a little later. If I didn't eat then, I'd have to wait for two hours until the class is done.
3:15 pm. I'm lost in the third floor. I went to room 316, where we were supposed to have the class but all that greeted me was gnawing silence and the creepy framed photos of the members of the fraternity that paid for the renovation of the room. I had absolutely no idea where they could have transferred.
Two hours later I found my classmates. Leaving the only classroom I didn't bother to check.
Wednesday, July 24, 2002
The CIA had an opening for an Assassin. After rigorous training and testing, three applicants were left. Two men and a woman. For the final test, the CIA agents took one of the men to a large metal door and handed him a gun. "We must know that you will follow your instructions, no matter what the circumstances. Inside this room, you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Kill Her!!!" The man said, "You can't be serious. I could never shoot my wife." The agent said, "Then you're not the right man for this job."
The second man was given the same instructions. He took the gun and went into the room. All was quiet for about five minutes. Then the man came out with tears in his eyes. "I tried, but I can't kill my wife." The agent said, "You don't have what it takes. Take your wife and go home."
Finally, it was the woman's turn. She was given the same instruction, to kill her husband. She took the gun and went into the room. Shots were heard, one shot after another. They heard screaming, crashing, banging on the walls. After a few minutes, all was quiet. The door opened slowly and there stood the woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and said, "This gun is loaded with blanks. I had to beat him to death with the chair."
Moral: Women are evil. Don't mess with them.
Sunday, July 21, 2002
If you think that was nothing, then factor this in: I was, in an effort to mislead people, wearing sandals with 4-inch heels. Talk about sensible shoes and that's the last pair you'd think of wearing.
I'm not planning to sleep for another two hours. I'm waiting for HBO to finish screening Waterworld because Interview with a Vampire comes on at 1:30 am. I've read the book and I think it's time to see the movie.
Midnight is the perfect time for rumination. Let me update you about what's been happening to me lately.
School. I think I'm doing okay in school right now, though I'm not doing as well as I think I can do. I should try harder, really. Why is it that I seem to have lost the capacity to raise my hand and volunteer an answer? I've lost count of the times when I knew just what the teacher was looking for and yet I didn't even make the effort to try to venture an answer. Instead, I sit squirming in my seat, praying so damn hard that the teacher asks me a question I do know. Unfortunately, the opposite almost always happens. I'm having fun with my Constitution class. I'm not studying that much for Property. Except for the fact that I now know Art. 415 by heart, I've got nothing to show for it.
Work. I'm not doing too well at work. I really think that it's time for me to get another job. I've been working there for three years and, so far, growth has been real slow. I think that my current job is a dead end. First, the esteemed university I work for doesn't really give much of a damn about our office. Case in point: we've lost two people in the last year and they haven't seen it fit to hire people to replace them. Now they're thinking of transferring one of us to another office again. That leaves just me and another person. And I'm supposed to get all the writing done. I've got myself spread so thin you'd need a microscope to find me. To make things worse, I am bored. So bored. I've been writing about school activities for the past three years. The job got old so fast it now feels positively ancient.
Social life? Seeing nobody, freinds and more-than-friends alike.
That's my life so far. I see Saul Bellow's Henderson The Rain King beckoning to me. I want to read it so bad but I've got a ton of cases to read and digest. Uggh. I just wish all this sacrifice prove to be worth it.
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