Hours of sleep I got last night: 1.
Hours of work today: 7.25.
Hours of homework: 4.

I added a side of French fries to my order of shrimp with vegetables because my past self felt guilty for putting my present self through this. Kind of like when drunk people leave themselves food, water, and pain killers for the next morning.

I left a party early, last night, to make sure I got a good head start on my homework (the stuff that's due tonight). It was then that I realized my growing hunger and stopped off at the grocery store by my house for some needed supplies. Unfortunately, a guy's car had stalled in the parking lot, and no one was stopping to help except one other guy...

So, basically, I didn't get any of my homework done, last night.

It's about half done, now...it's just that my instructor has started making the discussions research-heavy, and let me tell you, there is a reason I (tentatively) chose a mathematics major. We don't do much research. We're like, Ooh, this idea could be expanded on, let me solve something and make money off of it. And then we do. It's a simpler life.

I mean, I'm taking an English class next semester (I would end up dropping it in the first week, were it not required), which might help me with essay-writing, but man, research...

Research sucks.

So does macroeconomics, right now, but that's just because I'm a nitwit and don't read the chapters at a steady pace throughout the week. And this isn't a normal week's worth of learning; this is a month in a semester, boiled down INTO one week. This is me learning a month's worth of information in four hours, on one hour of sleep.

I was made for college.



I have something else to talk about, but I'm about to go back to the homework, and that really can't wait. So, sorry in advance for my rapid blog-updating. I'll add fries to your shrimp and veggies order.



[EDIT]

My grades come back instantly, since I'm doing all this online.

THEY WERE OF THE A PERSUASION.

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EVERYONE IS YELLING IN THEIR SUBJECTS. I don't know why they're doing it, but I'm getting in on it.

That is all.

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I found out, the other night, that I'll be living in a haunted dorm. The first friend to tell me about it, after I pushed for information, let me know that it was haunted by CHILDREN. I let it go for a couple days, but then today my friend (who you all know as inhuman) asked where I was placed, and I told her the all-female dorm.

She was kind enough to let me know that it was AN ORPHANAGE. She then said this:

"Oh, which floor are you on? The sixth is the worst."

I gave her a look.

I am on the sixth floor.


I decided to verify these Haunted Dorm things, and it turns out that the orphanage burned down, taking four children with it.


Perfect.

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It's really quite a beautiful word, I think. Exaltation. Fitting.




"All right, fine, Unicornasaurus*, who's YOUR best friend?"

"[My best friend's name]."

"Who?"

--I answered again, which clarified nothing. He seemed to accept it, ignoring his curiosity for the sake of more important answers.

"...Why's she your best friend?"

I was quiet for a second here. I'm one of those people who doesn't apologize for silence during a conversation, because typically it's necessary to say anything meaningful or memorable at all. My first attack would be to cite time, which means nothing. I've known at least thirty people "for years," and yet I only have two best friends. After a good fifteen seconds, I drew some semblance of a legitimate answer.

"I think...a best friend is someone you can't imagine your life without. Guys and girls come and go, and even during the relationship, I can see after that person, I can see myself without that person. But a best friend is someone you literally can't imagine living without, like you end when they end. --I don't know. She's going to be my maid of honour."

It was their turn to be silent--"them" being the two men I was placed on the swimming pool steps with. I don't think they were thinking carefully about their next words, but rather recounting all the people in their lives that they considered best friends, and how meaningless my new definition proclaimed those connections. I felt somewhat guilty, even, when the one I didn't know as well said, "Then I don't have a best friend," in this funny, far-off way.

I felt like an authority on the matter--that I was the parent telling her children that Santa didn't exist. Except, I'm not an authority on the matter. I'm just not.

I don't have a point. It's just been sticking out in my mind, lately. One other thing is on my mind, too, and it's just as abstract:

I had a dream about being pregnant. My dream self seemed to consider my waking self and obliged her by spelling the little girl's name out for me. I'm glad. It's beautiful, and if I ever have a little girl, I'm naming her exactly that, odd spelling and all.


I'm late responding to my e-mails because I'm always here, trying to write something I can feel good about putting out into the interwebs. It's why I like snail mail--so much easier to concentrate on. So much quicker to respond to, even with the same thoughtfulness. Snail mail needs to come back.


* people outside of NuTang don't actually call me this.

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