{ frolic in the sun }

 
12.09.2004
Wah! Wah! It's the Holiday Blues
My brain no longer wants to work with me. I guess that's what happens when you're assigned 15 million (give or take 14, 999, 995) essays. After a while there are just no words left in there, and all I really want to do is run away. Last week I missed the deadline for a paper by two minutes and I started crying in the stairwell. I'm pretty sure if I had bumped into someone and they'd asked what was wrong I would have blubbered, "Life's Not Fair," like some petulant nine year old who got the 'Danny' New Kids On the Block doll for Christmas when she specifically asked for 'JORDAN'.

What is the point behind all of the academic torture? Why is the world so enamored with the technique of wearing people down just to make sure they can cut it? Because honestly, lately I've started to think that I can't cut it, that I can't do what is required to be successful. Actually, I don't want to do it. Is that the entire point? Through self-defeat, I've been weeded out as one of the incompetents?
posted @ 12:51 AM

 
12.01.2004
On the Red Eye
I have nothing against Visine the Product - it works fast, it makes me look alert, possession of a bottle elicited knowing stares and giggles in high school. It's Visine the Concept I hate, particularly the part where I've got the bottle angled above one eye and I'm playing the trying-not-to-blink-but-hello?-BLINKING! game (which is almost as fun as the 'It Burns! Is this stuff going to blind me?' jump-around dance that follows each successful drop).
posted @ 8:53 AM





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