tomorrow and me
05.30.03 @ 5:12 p.m.
I am in the library. There is a man sitting at another computer in the little compu-island I'm at in the reference section, clearly asleep. Earlier he started to fall over and the computer he's at made a frantic beeping.
It was like ER, except, you know, in a library.
What the hell was that? I'm in a very odd mood. I'm scrambling to get my act together. Only, ah, five days until the hellish journalism project is really truly due. And I need to be done at least the day before to get it bound properly. Speaking of, I need to pause for a moment to see if the copy center in the student union does comb binding. "Collating, stapling, folding, cutting, 3-hole-punching and comb, velo, coil and tape binding are available." Ah, perfect. I won't have to make the trek to Kinkos. Or that horrid little copy shop.
Some kindly old man is taking sleeping guy away. How nice. And he doesn't seem to be a UO employee. It's like a creepy twenty/thirty years too old version of a dad taking his kid to work or something. Bizarre, very bizarre.
Just a few minutes ago, an ex-high-school classmate tapped me on the shoulder and scared the bajeezus out of me (I really do like that word, 'bajeezus.') She's sitting with a group just behind me.
I think one of my problems with really getting into infohell and getting it done is that I feel like I should have to do more work once I've found something. I need one more government document, and then I'm good to go, in that I have all my raw material and it will be simply left up to me to process it. At least ninety pages worth of processing. In four days! Hurrah.
I'm fucked, I'm so fucked. And I have an interview tonight. Well, that's an easy three pages. And the outline stretches out to be eight or nine by itself, and I just have to make it more prosey to do the acutal essay. All the points seem to come in the annotations. Thirty five of them, all two pages long. (Did I mention I bought a ream of paper and a new printer cartridge in anticipation of this project?)
So. Today is a day of interviews and annotations. I pissed away a lot of the afternoon, and that's going to hurt me. I should probably go back to my room now to get my sheet organizing everything and get an early dinner so I can call my interview subject in a timely manner.
I don't know why typing away in the library seems so seductive. But it IS. Perversely so. "A change of scene and society," to quote Miss Austen? My god, I'm a loser.
Lastly, I am mildly disturbed to receive an email from my friend Martha that said, "I had a dream last night that Who Boy impregnated and abandoned you." She's never met Who Boy, she inserts her own classmate that used to wear a Who shirt all the time. I blame this on last night's discussion of who is the leader and who are the sidekicks in a given group of friends.
Also, dying my hair is being discussed. I've decided to be wild and crazy and adventurous, or at least more so than I generally am. A ha ha ha. Anyway, it's as yet undecided whether I shall go brunette from my natural blonde or dye the bottom three inches of my hair fire-engine red. I've been contemplating it with Martha and Andrew. Well, Andrew only knows about the red idea. Last night I thought about the normal-brown idea.
Is it odd that so many brunettes seem to go blonde, and me, natural blonde, wants to darken down to brown? I always wanted to grow up to have dark hair. Perversely, genetics decided to ignore my dark-redheaded mother and brown haired father and toss me blonde. Freaking blonde. Oh well. It's a prettyish sort of blonde, with occasional red sheen.
Jesus. Look at how banal I'm getting. Anything to avoid this goddamn project, it would seem. I think I need to go back to my room, fetch my chart, make PDFs of the new info I've gathered, do my interview, then hole up somewhere that isn't my room, because I cannot work there.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
