Re-Key, Re-Up, Re-Move

Shit winds on, innit? Improper slangin' aside, I got a replacement key today after being my lovely L's true ward for the past keyless week. Access granted, I now continue to stumble through the last two-point-four classweaks. I've got novocaine brain, indeed. After returning from a well-resting Turkey Day (though they'll never live up to the MST3K marathon-days of yore) it appears my brain was either slightly less healed then thought, or just won't jump start back up. Either way, due dates are barely registering and I can't seem to be shook out.

I have also noticed that I am perilously slipping back into a trend of just cycling through reading some bullshit on the internet, constantly checking for updates multiple times I day when I am bored. I gots to figure out how to channel that into production. And shit, now that I think of it when I first started writing (now-deleted) blog posts in January it was pretty much along these lines of complaint.

Word. Suppertime.

Burp

Back to geekgrindin' after 4 (okay, 5, since I skipped everything last Wednesday) glorious days of complete nothing. I intended to do about 16 hours of homework over break. Instead I managed to print out an assignment and kinda skim through it to see what it was about. Dag. On the plus side, this is the first time in 3 years L and I haven't gone to Colorado over Thanksgiving. Which was good, since I just got a call from our friend and they are stuck in Nebraska due to blizzards. I've got waaaaay too much to do and that woulda slain me, so I'm glad we opted out.

Last night 'pon my return I did manage to get about 2 complete assignments done, so that's awright. Now today is dedicated to decoding the meaning of the Mann-Kendall test and implementing the shit outta it.

Once again, I have big plans circulating in my head for winter break. That never seems to pan out either. I know for a fact I'm getting Can't Stop Won't Stop for Christmas so that right there indicates less creative expedition, more bookworm existence. Which is good too.

Now off to class. Three damn weeks left, bring it on muthas.

There is no denying it.

Long weekends fucking rule. And when that long weekend happens to be Thanksgiving?


I'm so glad I do not work at a retail establishment.

I didn't get the job with Cisco. Which is fine because Cisco isn't even really in 'Cisco. It is in San Jose, which to me seemed a bit of a bait and switch. Get it? Switch? Cisco? Damn. If you do not get this, it is interweb humor.

I am loving the italics button, and I also love YOU! That's right, YOU. Not because you are particularly impressive, though you very well may be. Mostly because whomever you are, at this moment I do not owe you any kind of analysis on queueing models, Bayes classifiers, peptide linkages, solar azimuth angles, z-transfers, or other assorted flotsam. Nope. I rest easy tonight.

Tomorrow my big plans are to hoof it over to the post office and pick up my eBay'd cassette deck so I can finally replace my de-belt-drive'd Saver's special and safely listen to the glory of the Plastic Crimewave tape club entry numero uno. Also, I will skip class.

And hence, life is good.

No handle bars

Six more weeks. Six more weeks. Six more weeks.

Stuff is staring me down. I'm not quite paralyzed but my plastic Wendy's spoon isn't quite making a dent in Marjorie Garbage Pile's lack of helpful advice. If you focus you're not focusing on something but what am I supposed to focus on? Splatter.

All nerves and it's getting colder. My eyes and ears a raw as the sky's bland clear crow's caw. Hupp. Not as bad as all this, yeah, but I like to whine and I hate to get it done. Actually I don't believe there exists anything that is done or can be so. My life ain't discrete like that. The only thing that I know will sometime be done right now is six weeks.

Curr Few

I got backaches and ordering 3 outta 4 on the Vientiene spice scale has resulted in bowlegged affectations. Tomorrow my hair gets trimmed. After farming it for about a year and a half I cut it all off in August. Since then it has been given ample opportunity to grow to even length... sideburn hairz as long as on top. And don't mention what's in the back there. This ain't gonna fly in San Jose a week from now, so I bit the bullet and submit to a professional tomorrow. "Don't mock me" my eyes will timidly beg as I cross the threshold, "I just ain't got time to care about appearance." I am shoddy craftsmanship. My desk full of old bank statements, watermarked assignments, and broken jewel cases attests to this.

I polished off midterms tonight with a belly full of capsasin and a mind full of novocaine. It. Is. Just. Too. Much. I'm not that smart. Or something. Somebody just drove by listening to Blood on the Tracks loud enough to pipe through our second story window. Omen. Amen. Ominous.

Bottom line is my life is at some kinda hungry hungry hippos stage and for every marble I chomp down on a couple big ol' cats eyes roll off into the sunset, or so it feels. My bank account dwindles, my classes stagger on, I don't even buy obscene amounts of records to make me feel special. I bought a long sleeve t-shirt, though, to keep my new tattoo covered up when I go it to work. Not that they'll care there, but I dunno and I don't wanna.

I never wanna.