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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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blah blah blah
What a day. I ditched my fun class yesterday, having not written the midterm essay that I had three weeks to do. I spent the afternoon writing the damn thing (an essay about the supernatural in Onibaba, the Japanese "horror" film), and took it to my prof this afternoon. I was hoping, as I rode the elevator up to her floor, that she wouldn't be in and I could just slip it under the door with a cheesy little excuse written on a post-it note which I had brought with me from the lab specifically for that purpose. I had to walk the perimeter of the floor before I found her door, which was closed. I knocked very, very softly, and was about to whip out my post-its when the door opened and I was greeted by my prof. She was in tears. Her mascara had run all down her face, and she was holding a bottle of nasal spray, and I said, "Are you okay?" and she said, tearfully, "No. I can't get this stupid thing to work," and held out the nasal spray. I said, "Do you want me to try? Or, I have some decongestants in my bag at work." And she declined my offers and told me about her horrible day and her allergies and her relatives coming out from another state and the essays that were piled up and...And I kept trying to leave, but couldn't. This Zoloft. This Zoloft makes me so damn apathetic. Then I went back to the lab and was feeling a bit dizzy, faint from too much caffeine and not enough...something. So I went into my boss's office to surf on one of the four computers in there (she goes home to be with her kids about noon) and eat my lunch (veggie salami on wheat with lettuce, tomato, and mustard; a banana; an apple; a honey tangerine; some baby carrots; a coke), and Z. came in and slumped in the chair next to mine, and we had the following conversation: Z: How is your energy? [He's Chinese, remember. From China and everything.] S: My...energy?? Oh. Okay, I guess. I'm a little tired. Z: My energy is not good. S: Are you sick? Z: Yes, a little, I think, I have a little bit of flu. S: (joking) You need to learn to be like Americans--stay home and lie in bed when you are sick. Z: (serious) I not think that rest is any good for flu. I cannot sleep during the day. S: The doctors say you should drink a lot of liquids and rest. Z: I...yesterday...I not come in last night. So, he worked a--for him--abbreviated day: only 8 hours. And I'm almost positive he will return to work after a two hour dinner break and work another 3 or so hours. I sat, trying to work on a presentation I have to give soon, and got a call from MayFlower who wanted to come up. I took the chance to sit on the outside stairs and wait for her, and when she came up, I got to hear all about how she blah blah husband blah asshole blah grad school blah blah blah. Then she left. I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening working on the presentation, struggling with having to dumb down biochemical experiments so that ecologists can understand them, and then I went to study with someone from my microbio. class and then I came home and had a dinner of vegetarian sloppy joes and frozen green beans, and then blah blah tired blah blah net surf blah blah blah.
More lies:
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