(no subject)
Mar. 26th, 2003 01:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Let us begin the telling of the worst day I’ve had in conscious memory.
It begins at six thirty. (Early is not good. Not good at all. Not good at all, I tell you.) I woke up a the start of dawn feeling sick to my stomach. I didn’t get up, because my room mate was asleep, and I didn’t want to spread the monstrous injustice. So I rolled over, and grabbed my copy of Frankenstien because despite my blinding hatred for Victorian literature, I have to have it read by tomorrow.
At seven forty five, the fire alarm went off and we all trundle outside to sit on the cold grass and concrete, waiting for the fire department to show up. Later, we find out that a girl set her bed on fire with a votive candle.
At eight thirty, they let us back in the building, and I attempted to call my director. Again. She called me sometime last week, while I was on spring break saying only that she was in the hospital; and to call her back. This does not build confidence. I could get through to her, but one of my cast mates picked up the phone and told me the story. Evidently director girl has given herself a hernia, and is going in for surgery Thursday. Rehearsal week was supposed to start tomorrow. (I hate how selfish it sounds, but just AGH.) We’re having a cast meeting to see if anyone wants to take over directing. It they don’t, then the play is off. I can’t do it. I don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to direct a group of actors who are older and less experienced than I am. And, I need a frigging director.
I made it to work (only ten minutes late) and realized that the reason my eyes couldn’t focus might well have something to do with having put my contacts in the wrong eyes. Goood one.
I get to work, to find that they’re fumigating. Everything is covered with a thin patina of dust. It’s supposed to be harmless, but it itches like crazy and everyone’s sneezing like there’s no tomorrow.
I worked on withdrawal duty today, which is the most mind numbing job in the bindary. I have to delete the title, authors name, barcode, item record number, subjects, call number, etc then box the books where the go upstairs, where someone will check that it’s fully out of the record and throw it away. I hate killing old books.
My Grandfather, who taught me how to sail, to love the ocean, how to put on sunscreen with out getting your palms greasy and how to be a pirate, called at lunch to tell me that he’s dying. “Thought you’d better hear it from me,” he said.
In art lab, we found out that all of the bronze castings that were supposed to have been done over break were killed. Turns out the ceramic we were given to make molds was flawed, and when the bronze was poured in, they all cracked. Horribly, it’s not anyone’s fault, because I really want to blame someone. I might be able to rescue the top half of my sculpture, but I’m not sure that I can rebuild the bottom half to match.
My theater appreciation class is an insult to theater everywhere. We had our midterm today, and to illustrate my hatred, I will directly quote a question.
Which is not a type of stage?
A. Thrust
B. Auditorium
C. Black Box
D. Oregano
I kid you not. The whole test was like this.
From two thirty to eight thirty, Chemistry. Chem lab was prep for our midterm tomorrow, which is hideously scary. I don’t understand some of the basic concepts, but I am too emotionally/physically/spiritually exhausted to contemplate trying to study more than the three hours of lab, hour help session, and two hour study group I’ve already put in today. (Six hours, no joke. No exaggeration.)
I have a paper due on cancer research tomorrow, and I’m only about half finished with it. Of course, the part I have left to do is the part wherein I make modern medicine into a metaphor for Descartes. This will be no problem at all in the semi-halucenogenic-ready-to-quit-school-and-move-to-Rome-tomorrow state I'm in. Yah.
Round out the day with a call from my parents, who mean so well but time things so miserably. They want to know if I have applications for summer jobs out, how my scholarship search is going, where I’m going to live next semester, what classes I’m thinking of taking, and if I’ve been thinking about quitting my job to devote more time to the above listed things as per their instructions, etcetera. I hung up on them, and pulled the phone jack. I am not sensitive to critisim. I don’t care what anyone thinks, because (with the exception of today) I am doing very well. I know I should be thinking about these things, and I know I will. Just. Not. This. Week. which I believe I mentioned about thirty times when I saw them over spring break.
I end the day finally accepting that it is a waste of my time to try writing, and realizing that I’ve been reading the same paragraph of Frankenstien for the last twenty minutes. My room mate tosses a thermometer at me while I’m brushing my teeth. 130 degrees. Who didn’t see that coming?
I would so like to go to sleep until Thursday evening, but my paper’s due (no late’s accepted for any reason) and my midterms tomorrow (no makeups for any reason).
*weep*
On the upside, it's now one o clock, which makes it my birthday. I am eleven once more.
It begins at six thirty. (Early is not good. Not good at all. Not good at all, I tell you.) I woke up a the start of dawn feeling sick to my stomach. I didn’t get up, because my room mate was asleep, and I didn’t want to spread the monstrous injustice. So I rolled over, and grabbed my copy of Frankenstien because despite my blinding hatred for Victorian literature, I have to have it read by tomorrow.
At seven forty five, the fire alarm went off and we all trundle outside to sit on the cold grass and concrete, waiting for the fire department to show up. Later, we find out that a girl set her bed on fire with a votive candle.
At eight thirty, they let us back in the building, and I attempted to call my director. Again. She called me sometime last week, while I was on spring break saying only that she was in the hospital; and to call her back. This does not build confidence. I could get through to her, but one of my cast mates picked up the phone and told me the story. Evidently director girl has given herself a hernia, and is going in for surgery Thursday. Rehearsal week was supposed to start tomorrow. (I hate how selfish it sounds, but just AGH.) We’re having a cast meeting to see if anyone wants to take over directing. It they don’t, then the play is off. I can’t do it. I don’t have the time, energy, or inclination to direct a group of actors who are older and less experienced than I am. And, I need a frigging director.
I made it to work (only ten minutes late) and realized that the reason my eyes couldn’t focus might well have something to do with having put my contacts in the wrong eyes. Goood one.
I get to work, to find that they’re fumigating. Everything is covered with a thin patina of dust. It’s supposed to be harmless, but it itches like crazy and everyone’s sneezing like there’s no tomorrow.
I worked on withdrawal duty today, which is the most mind numbing job in the bindary. I have to delete the title, authors name, barcode, item record number, subjects, call number, etc then box the books where the go upstairs, where someone will check that it’s fully out of the record and throw it away. I hate killing old books.
My Grandfather, who taught me how to sail, to love the ocean, how to put on sunscreen with out getting your palms greasy and how to be a pirate, called at lunch to tell me that he’s dying. “Thought you’d better hear it from me,” he said.
In art lab, we found out that all of the bronze castings that were supposed to have been done over break were killed. Turns out the ceramic we were given to make molds was flawed, and when the bronze was poured in, they all cracked. Horribly, it’s not anyone’s fault, because I really want to blame someone. I might be able to rescue the top half of my sculpture, but I’m not sure that I can rebuild the bottom half to match.
My theater appreciation class is an insult to theater everywhere. We had our midterm today, and to illustrate my hatred, I will directly quote a question.
Which is not a type of stage?
A. Thrust
B. Auditorium
C. Black Box
D. Oregano
I kid you not. The whole test was like this.
From two thirty to eight thirty, Chemistry. Chem lab was prep for our midterm tomorrow, which is hideously scary. I don’t understand some of the basic concepts, but I am too emotionally/physically/spiritually exhausted to contemplate trying to study more than the three hours of lab, hour help session, and two hour study group I’ve already put in today. (Six hours, no joke. No exaggeration.)
I have a paper due on cancer research tomorrow, and I’m only about half finished with it. Of course, the part I have left to do is the part wherein I make modern medicine into a metaphor for Descartes. This will be no problem at all in the semi-halucenogenic-ready-to-quit-school-and-move-to-Rome-tomorrow state I'm in. Yah.
Round out the day with a call from my parents, who mean so well but time things so miserably. They want to know if I have applications for summer jobs out, how my scholarship search is going, where I’m going to live next semester, what classes I’m thinking of taking, and if I’ve been thinking about quitting my job to devote more time to the above listed things as per their instructions, etcetera. I hung up on them, and pulled the phone jack. I am not sensitive to critisim. I don’t care what anyone thinks, because (with the exception of today) I am doing very well. I know I should be thinking about these things, and I know I will. Just. Not. This. Week. which I believe I mentioned about thirty times when I saw them over spring break.
I end the day finally accepting that it is a waste of my time to try writing, and realizing that I’ve been reading the same paragraph of Frankenstien for the last twenty minutes. My room mate tosses a thermometer at me while I’m brushing my teeth. 130 degrees. Who didn’t see that coming?
I would so like to go to sleep until Thursday evening, but my paper’s due (no late’s accepted for any reason) and my midterms tomorrow (no makeups for any reason).
*weep*
On the upside, it's now one o clock, which makes it my birthday. I am eleven once more.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-26 04:08 am (UTC)Every day will get better after this one.
Happy Birfday.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-31 10:36 am (UTC)On the upside, the next few years can only go up from this point.
Fire Alarm
Date: 2003-03-26 01:53 pm (UTC)I am now amazed at myself.
I know I slept through the alarm because I ate breakfast at 8:45
which means I got up sometime after 8 but before 8:45.
I remember when my grandpa died. He is still my favorite person in the world.
I really miss him. It was in the 3rd grade and the school nurse came into my
classroom to tell me and I broke down in tears and they asked if they should
call my parents and take me home and I said no, I could make it (didn't think
my parents would take me home anyway.
And they wouldn't let me go to his funeral. *The only* funeral I have ever
wanted to attend.
He's a lot of the reason I want to grow up and be a professor (that's what he was).
I understand the parent nagging. Always happens at the wrong time.
And then they get upset when you snap back at them and they say that they're just trying to help.
*sigh*
So yes, I empathize.
hug
Date: 2003-03-27 08:38 am (UTC)i'm sorry about your granpa-watching peter die was inhumanly hard-i cannot imagine what it must be like for you to lose someone you've known your whole life.though i can't be there for you in body-i am always here for you when you need me-in spirit. [soul sisters?]
Re: hug
Date: 2003-03-31 10:38 am (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2003-03-27 11:35 pm (UTC)In other news, I love you. *hug* See you tomorrow.