someday
12.08.03 @ 3:30 p.m.
Yet again I find myself in this computer lab, aimlessly killing time while I wait for something to print. Right now, person whose social security number I could broadcast across the net but won't is printing whatever his document is. All I have are the two final pages of Legends magazine, and then I won't have to come back here any time soon. All dieties willing.
On Thursday I get to go home to Portland, which is just a relief. What's more of a relief is that my dad is coming to get me rather than making me take Amtrak or worse, Greyhound. For one thing, it means I don't have to minimize my packing, so I can do things like take my spare pillows home (so I don't have to use massive squishy body pillow as a regular pillow for three weeks), return the half case of Diet Rite my dad left in our kitchen, uh... Well, I don't know what else. I'm thinking of asking to borrow Dad's strat over break to keep up with the guitar skillz, but I could take my acoustic (or my own strat) if I really REALLY wanted to. I'm not particular, though, so long as my guitar access isn't limited to the bloody resonator with the headstock shoddily reglued together that lives in our kitchen. I hate that damn thing. The strings are like two inches off the fretboard.
Well, it turns out that Jimmy Cooper-ish boy is not the one holding up the print queue, which is good. Because I like that he looks like Quadrophenia-movie Jimmy. Hee. Ah, but just now coming back from the bathroom, I see that Jimmy Cooper is a bit of a snoop. Taking a quick look at something fresh out of the printer is one thing, holding it and staring for quite a while is another. Not that I'm not an equal snoop, watching him take what looks like Assignment 3- "Photoshop yourself into something" out of the printer. Hmm. Late work? Has to be. He's got himself on the cover of Time, and our magazines are supposed to be original.
Listen to me ramble. This is like my entire internal commentary. There is hardly a thing going through my head that isn't getting typed at this moment. That makes me SAD. And yet, I'm doing it because I have nothing else to do, I'm stuck here waiting and waiting for everyone to print their stuff. I'm glad I came today because I imagine tomorrow's going to be pretty bad, seeing as the whole shebang is due on Wednesday. (I like the word 'shebang.')
AGH. Holy SHIT. The girl just said she's next in the queue and she's printing SIX pages. I'm going to implode. (I like 'implode' too. Much less messy than explosing. Just pop, cease to exist, usually due to sheer frustration.)
These last few days have been very lonely when they haven't been frustrating. Classes are ending, and so the few people that I have class with that are sort of friends aren't seen (mostly I'm thinking of Rachel here, but Jeannie, too) and Ena's always gone. Well, that second one isn't usually a bad thing because she annoys me a lot and I have a bad tendency to nag her about things like wiping off the goddamn counter when she's done rather than leaving a flour spill for three days after she makes cookies. That's evil, too. She keeps baking. I keep having to exert all my willpower (which, due to childhood issues with hiding food from my dad, isn't very much) not to eat what she cooks in a desperate bid not to get fat(ter). Isn't it bad enough that I don't eat balanced meals in the first place? You have to go throwing cookies in my path all the time? What's up with that, Fate?
And since I'm addressing the anthropomorphic personification of Fate, how come I never get to run into the people I think are really cool around here? Huh? Where is Who Boy? Where is Brilliant British Professor? It's all very depressing.
Okay, enough. Just a little more rambling left in me before I go find something else to do. Last night I decided I was going to work on my Classics take home final in my room (hah) and ended up lighting every candle I had (in holders, anyway), the lava lamp, and putting up my string of star lights along my ceiling while listening to the Strokes (both albums) and Oasis (Morning Glory). With just the ambient light of those, I drew a couple of pretty cool but unexpected things. A guitar with an arching neck became a guitar turning into a snake. Also, a random paisley print morphed into a mildly scary face, and I drew a really cool figure like this or this but holding, ah, a guitar. Okay, so I was looking at my strat a lot while I drew (but oddly enough, drew non-Strats). It started out as a vague idea for a sixties style concert poster. I'm getting a little hung up on short story "ICRY", which takes place in late '67 and is moving very slowly indeed.
This entry now feels absurdly long, and so I must go find something else to do.
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
