Fuck the Thorn and school for the next forty-five minutes. This is me time. I need to think.
I have a problem. The problem is that my workload is unmanageable. This is sad, because it doesn’t bode well for my success at Rose if seventeen credit hours is enough to bring me down.
Regardless, the problem is there.
There are a couple of options laying before me that may alleviate some of the stress.
Continue reading Making a decision.
I was an idiot to bet on sleep tonight.
I am very, very bitchy tonight.
I am also coming upon the end of my endurance.
Continue reading Faulty bet.
Barring an inability to get into the classes I want, I will only be taking 13 credit hours next term. Programming Language Concepts, Analytical Chemistry, Computer Architecture II, and research.
Continue reading It’s been confirmed.
You will not have my sympathy…
…when I am falsely called into lab with a few hours’ notice.
…when I am called into lab at 08:00 on a Sunday with only two days notice to clear my schedule. I warned you about this. My schedule is not a flexible one, and I am no longer being paid to do this.
…when I arrive in lab to find you have made no attempts to prepare. Why are you sitting there looking at me like a time portal is opening behind me when your samples are still in the ‘fridge? And did you delibrately look at that clock when I came in? Hell naw.
… when I find you have not made the correct solutions to do the work. That should have been done the day I was falsely called into lab. This stuff doesn’t magically appear at the machine, waiting for you like a dollar from the Tooth Fairy when you run a kinetics experiment.
Continue reading Dearest Deer:
My younger sibling says this (in imitation of our mother) when the Old Man tries to carry on a conversation with her while not really listening to her responses. It’s sad and slightly humourous to watch, because she’ll be talking animatedly and he’ll “uh-huh” repeated until she realizes he isn’t listening. Then she turns whiny and pissed.
The fourth week of December, my body began to talk at me. Actually, that’s a fallacy right there, because it’s really always talking to me. I just had very little desire to listen until then. And I only gave it a cursory response when I did listen.
Progressively through this school year, I’ve become increasingly intolerant of what my body tells me. Up through part of this past summer, me and mine had a pretty good relationship—we ran, we played, we worked, we rested, we ate healthily and without guilt.
Continue reading You just aren’t listening to me.