Tuesday, December 04, 2007

The Savannah, Paper-Writing, and Why None of This Is Your Fault

Unfortunately, the people in the building resemble herd animals more than human beings. This evening, we had the lovely experience of the ceiling turning into the vibrating diaphragm of the building. Above, the sounds of pursuit (very fox-meets-hound) indicated that something utterly inappropriate for the hour was occurring. I really don't try to understand the people who live here. Who leaves their box in the hallway for weeks, as though people don't need to walk through the halls? (I have yet to find a circumstance for which this is acceptable, excepting that you are being held prisoner by some sociopath.)

Alison and I agreed.

I have found myself well on the way, but I'm wanting to finish.

I've been considering slugging down a Diet Coke and seeing if I can stay up and finish this paper (which I had stated was my goal). And it's proving to be a little difficult to focus.

Oh, I hate how I always feel like I'm running out of things. It's like running out of breath, except it's your pride that's burning, not your lungs. Well, your pride is seething, actually, just stewing in its own failure. Reveling in it satisfied this deep urge inside, right next to the button that turns on the thrill of buying a nice pair of shoes.

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1 comment:

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