English

Helping the class slacker out with his English paper. Good gods. Does the guy wait until the last moment for all his projects? He is no writer, but came in this morning with one (1) sheet of notebook paper with three (3) sketchy ideas of a particular commercial's appeal to the primal human psychological needs. Like, one-sentence ideas. Fragments. Very fragmentary fragments.

The paper ought to be four pages long. Typed. I have somewhat over that, and it was done Friday.

So, basically, I'm chillin' in the lab with my books and my cards and my online amusements, and slacker-prep's sitting next to me going "Aaaaugh!!" over his paper and expecting me to help him.

He was in my business group last trimester, so we had to pick up after his puppy-puddles. (He's 23 and ex-military. I'm 20 with no real world experience.) He was titular leader. I ended up de facto leader because I knew my shit and could organize. I ended up having a nervous breakdown at the last moment on the project. My sister took over, and her then-boyfriend, the One True Gentleman in Arizona, sat down next to me and told me gently but firmly what to do with the mouse and what to type.

Hah. I don't think I'll ever have to work with slacker-prep again. I RULE!!!

...work...more work....

At least I met some interesting people today. Dan, who reads Robert Jordan, and a nameless lady with a necklace the same shape as mine. We exchanged favorite author names. I came back from break (I'd gone late, thanks to a long survey) and came back to find everyone gone. At least I got a few minutes more than I otherwise might have in.

Tried to call the place when I came back (this would be for the new job) but office hours were over. So I call tomorrow when I'm at home watching my nephew.

Watched the 2nd half of Dark Angel tonight. Very decent. Very nice. Very angsty. I like angst, and I have an especial hot button about genetically engineered superheroes named Zach...

...well, if you haven't seen the episode, I'm not going to spoil it. I saw it coming from the moment the doctors audibly identified the problem, though, and I dang near cried.

Would have, too, except reality's been catching up with me, and fiction, while it's compelling, and there are lots of beautiful stories, doesn't quite have the same lure to it anymore.

I think I'm starting to listen to my sis and my father -- he was addicted to science fiction once too, but then put it aside for the things that were real.

My hope is that one day the beauties of science fiction will all come to pass, and the horrors will not.

...

...Wish I had more words of wisdom. Was trying to write to my best friend tonight while I was at work. Got some lovely dreams down in the midst of all the silliness.

Argh.

So it suddenly dawns on me that not only is slacker-prep prevailing on my goodwill and general niceness for typing his lameass paper into something the English teacher will like at the last second, but that in order to get my attention, this guy is, instead of touching my arm gently like he normally does, has been touching my leg instead.

If that means what I think it does, his ass is so laminated.

the nightly IM fest

talking to three cute guys at once, all of whom I'd willingly jump in an instant. Cool. Two of them are Davids, and the other one starts with a D also.

Synchronicity.

Maybe I'll work my way down the alphabet a notch in a few months.

I can only hope.

car

It's toast.

Hope we can make it.

Arizona in the summer. No car. How fun.