Pain

My pain tolerance level seems to have decreased. Darkside and I played Mercy this morning, and I was out within the first three seconds, though I stubbornly hung on for longer. He gave me an arm nerve-pinch that was agonizing.

I think Dagger got most of my levels of pain tolerance.

Squeak.

Um. Dear friend. When I make a tasteless joke and you snap at me, don't expect me to be perfectly perky and cheerful any time within the next five minutes. I'm still trying to work out where your boundaries are, and your rebukes hurt, because I know I shouldn't have gone there.

Conflicts

There are, as everyone should have learned from their Lit classes, three types of conflict:

Person vs. Self
Person vs. Person
Person vs. Nature.

To these, I have added a fourth:

Person vs. Technology.

It's not another person, it's not the self, it's not nature, though it comes closest to nature.

grr.

My voice is out of commission for the next little while. Not sure when it will be back. I see that this defensive mechanism is still intact. When I get too upset about something or other, my voice conks out, and ...

...Well, it does evidently work for things such as calling my roommate and letting her know when my last class gets out today. I pick up Little Fay from daycare when I get out of my morning classes, and take him with to English. How fun.

You know...

maybe there were things that I didn't need to hear.

Especially with Darkside sitting right there next to me. Of the two of us, he's far more easily grumped about, um, stuff.

Out of black ones?

When I pulled out the top of my tank top and dared Darkside to do his worst, he noticed that I was wearing a white bra. He commented, walking to the computer lab, "Out of black ones?" He wasn't supposed to be looking!!

Some teachers shouldn't be allowed to operate test creation software.

Bird created a test and made three versions of it: A, B, and C, with the questions scrambled.

He saved version A, and returned all our scan-tron cards to us.

As feedback, I folded my returned paper (version C, showing 86% correct) into a paper airplane and returned it to him as a demonstration of the value of this test to me.


Fortunately, Bird was amused.

DB

Dragging my brain through database. A few weeks ago, when I discovered that I couldn't comment some of this stuff to my liking, my brain had a hissyfit and shut down on the DB front. Therefore, I am starting it up again, sneakily, hopefully in time to get stuff done, however late.

Foggy

So when am I going to wake up?

Research

I am going to have a difficult time with my research paper. Why?

Long ago, I at some point came across the idea that I had no right to an opinion. That's what it came across as. I was not well-enough informed, and not yet with the logical tools to build one. An emotional opinion is irrelevant.

This paper is argumentative: it requires opinion. The prospect of forming an opinion terrifies me.

The Secret Protocols of Mama

The name given to the routines established between Mama and the kids, where Mama and the kids know what procedure is happening when they say, for example, "Pick me up after Fine Arts Camp", when the time window is any time that day after the camp lets out at five, and there are at least three valid parking lots to be picked up from. Mama and the kids know that the usual procedure is right at five in the tiny cramped parking lot by the music and art wing, the one with all the reserved spaces for the symphony and staff, but FatherSir, having been told only that there is to be a pickup of kid, and he's the one to do it, is clueless and haunting the wrong parking lot.

The construction "The secret protocols of foo" applies to any situation where the protocol is sufficiently well-known by insiders that it's not thought to clue in the outsider who's expected to follow the protocol.