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greyanomaly
07 October 2010 @ 01:04 pm
Process for getting sick
1. Sniffle and wonder if there is pollen in the air again.
2. Go down way harder than should be logically possible for a goddamn cold.
3. Remember that yielding to a bunch of microscopic organisms is for pussies; recover by sheer force of will.
4. Profit?

Note to self: While now I can see that you thoughtfully condensed a week of having annoying cold into a mere two days of being dead, in the future we are going to have to improve this process. Catching colds is for pansies, let's catch sharks instead.
 
 
greyanomaly
29 September 2010 @ 04:24 pm
I have always been phenomenally bad at keeping journals. I buy pretty notebooks, fully intending to begin keeping a record of my innermost feelings and fascinating experiences, and then real life kicks in and I realize that the vagaries of my day are not worthy of sitting between their elegant covers, besmirching the hand-made tibetan paper with my grubby account of what I had for lunch. To cut straight to the point, I can't ruin the internet because it's already full of crap, and besides it doesn't have pretty covers to intimidate me. But why keep a journal (you ask with trembling voice and bated breath) if your life is so decidedly uninspiring? Mostly because it's a good way to respond to all the people who irritate me to no end without A. earning their undying hatred and B. alienating myself from whatever context in which I interact with them. I'm a judgmental person (for which you, oh hypothetical reader, are probably judging me right now) and my first instinct is to judge other people very harshly indeed. I could make my excuses, saying that I only hold them to the high standards to which I hold myself, but since people who make excuses for every bad habit they have are one of the type I judge most harshly, I will instead admit that it's because I'm an arrogant bitch with little to no empathy or ability to tolerate people. I often enjoy being needlessly acidic towards those who acquire my enmity through some small transgression. However, because of the aforementioned reasons and because I feel that society is a machine oiled by people like me not doing colossally stupid things, I keep these feelings to myself. So, rather than respond personally to whoever has become the target of my ire, I shall instead transpose the feelings here, where no one will be insulted and yell at me because it is really very tiresome and I don't care.
Mostly, I just want a place to rant irritably about whatever way the universe has personally conspired against me to absolutely ruin my day with petty annoyances and inconveniences. Rain, centipedes, that one lock that won't open unless I jiggle the key just so, I'm looking at you. Prepare to face the inferno of my withering scorn.
Today's topic will be people who irritate me, specifically that one girl who comes to class and does absolutely nothing. Now, I could tell as soon as I saw you sitting in my seat* that you were going to be the sort of person I roll my eyes at behind your back. You, with your fading black dye job and your gothic black miniskirt and your can of Vault and your ironic backpack with the rainbow colored Hello Kitties with X's for eyes (very droll). We were not going to get along. The fact that you chose to sit in my seat, for your first appearance in class about three weeks after it had began, was merely the ill fated coincidence that drew my attention to you. But alright, perhaps you have some medical problem. The teacher came over and talked with you, and while I did not listen because I respect people's privacy (this is a lie) it would seem that perhaps your long absences are excused. Maybe you have a medical problem. Maybe you're a fucking narcoleptic since you spent the entire class with your head down on the desk and not even a notebook out to pretend you were paying attention while we reviewed for the first test of the semester which would have been an ideal way for you to jump back into the class because it was a review of everything that you had missed! The fact that you chose to waste the class in my seat is merely the icing on my cake of hate. Then, about five minutes before class would have ended, you said something to the teacher which made her end class early so that you could go out into the hall and call someone about your impending emotional breakdown, no doubt caused by the concentrated thoughts of death I was beaming in your direction, since you sure weren't getting stressed out by your hour long nap, lulled to sleep by the sweet lullaby of factoring polynomials and industrious students actually doing work.
You were again absent for the next class, but did show up for the test to take my seat again. However, glory of glories, you graced us with your presence twice in a row, in our class tuesday last. I was pleased to see you actually sit up straight and get out a notebook, almost enough to forgive the fact that you had taken my seat, and less pleased to see that you spent the entire class doodling hearts with devil tails and angel wings. Your penciled renderings of the truly schismatic nature that lies within that deepest core of humanity were so novel and thought-provoking that I found myself gazing upon them in a wonderment of disbelief. You continued your theme on the vagaries of classical neo-abstractionism with a second piece of written art, most curiously titled "algebra notes" and yet containing not algebra at all but remarkably purple prose, in a style I daresay would rival Stephanie Meyer. I, alas, could not read all this great piece of work as I was busy copying down commonplace and unenlightened quadratic equations, but I did manage to catch such pearls as "red eyes" "amber eyes" "The spirits will never give me power" and "dresser". However, while I could not fully appreciate your fine prose which was in no way trite or cliched, I did manage to catch a glimpse of your test grade as they were handed back.** My goodness, I would never have expected someone who showed up for class at least four times in the first month to get an F! But look on the bright side, at least she curved the grades. Those extra four points brought your grade up by fifty percent, and I'm sure you can do that math because you should have covered percentages in high school if you didn't sleep through that too.
But hey, you did get one class ended five minutes early, so I suppose you're good for something.

*Not technically mine since it's college and we're adults who don't need assigned seats, but you understand the sentiment. Sit in the same chair every class for a few weeks and it is yours.

**Remember where I said I respected other people's privacy, and then later said it was a lie? Now see how humorously ironic that statement was? That's called foreshadowing, ladies and gentlemen. If you'll excuse me, I've got to write this down and mail it to Stephen King.