October 22, 1997.
First the bad news: I destroyed myself and everything I believe in this afternoon writing my ill-fated calculus exam.. hardly even a hope there of passing. I just don't know where I went wrong, but all I can say is that it's going to take a lot to catch up with that kind of badness. Sigh... oh well... mathematics was always my enemy.
Now the good news: I can totally write my psychology
mid-term early! Yes, that's right, the very exam that was screwing up my
ability to travel southwesterly and see Clorinda, and causing me lots of
stress and guilt! The T.A's called last and said that I can actually
write it early. They specified that the only night it would be possible
was Tuesday, the 28th of October, which initially sounded perfect.
I knew I had a linguistics class that evening, but all things considered
I was more than willing to forego it for just one night. And I was
busily e-mailing Clorinda to tell her the good news when this
very queer feeling began to settle in my stomach, and those oh-so
familiar doubts started nagging at me; the very same way they did when I
bought the ticket, and part of my brain was warning me that all was not
well in the state of Denmark (and my life might as well be Denmark,
since basically everyone who comes into it (or my room anyway) is here to
smoke...). So, I grabbed my notebook, flipped through pages of classtime
ruminations, and stumbled across the useful factoid that now my
psychology mid-term was inconveniently the same night as my linguistics
mid-term. See, I thought my mid-term was last week, but actually it
was just a test. An important test, of course, but not quite so
important as the mid-term.
"Oh...dear," I thought.
Magically, I talked to my linguistics professor and established that provided I really race through my psychology mid-term, and boogie all the way to phonetics, I can write my linguistics mid-term as well, the same night, showing up perhaps an hour late (or less, if I can fill in eighty little scantron circles successfully in forty minutes or so). It will simply involve me really knowing my stuff.
Of course, it couldn't all be good for me last night, as I lost my scarf and my favorite journal in my rush to talk to my phonetics professor. Hopefully I'll find it at the lost and found today, but right now, I'm not freaking out because it just seems like yet another thing, and at this point I'm pretty darn used to thing after thing crashing to the floor, while I look at the situation exasperatedly through eyes that aren't quite mine, cynically sigh "Sucks to be you," and yet helpfully engage my damage-control systems and assist in the cleanup.
Now I have a symbolic logic mid-term to study for (the studying is a formality that makes all the difference between me failing because I got everything wrong, and failing because I sat there for two hours without making a single mark on the paper, not even my name, which in any event I might be too ashamed to add), so I must depart.
P.S. Clorinda goes to see a specialist today, and here she shall have tests run and bits examined, and they will tell her if there's any single possible thing that might be seriously wrong with her. I want you all, as I do, to hope that either she's perfectly fine, or they have the necessary bionic parts to make her all better, as well as a lovably cute, yet superhuman, crime fighting cyborg.
I'm terribly sorry. I am. But I don't know if I'll have time yet for real, proper long Snivels this week. I have to work. I have to prepare. I'll update you on my life as I can, but it's going to be very, very stressful for me, and I hope you understand.
Brought to you by Jolt Cola, with
the buzzing and mild irritation of
caffeine induced paranoia.
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