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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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The Demon Who Fondles Slow Glass
Here was my day: I need an organic chem lab. (Well, need is not exactly the right word. Let's just say that it would be good if I had an organic chem lab under my belt when it comes time for me to get into all those elite graduate school programs, right? Right.) But did I register for an organic lab when it would have been easy to get into an organic lab? No. Of course not. Why would I do anything as sensible as that? So, there I was, at noon, yellow card in hand, waiting for someone not to show up so that I could get into the noon organic chem lab. At ten after twelve, one guy had not shown up and was unceremoniously dropped from the class. So there was one spot open. And three of us vying for it. Me and some redheaded chick that I had in my physics classes for the last couple of semesters, who was one of those girls who wore short skirts and sat in the front row. You know the kind, right? The kind who never skipped an office hour session with the prof and got C's on all the tests and maybe a high B or low A in the class? Yeah, one of those. And some guy who I just knew wasn't going to make it in. One of the lab grunts chose a number between one and one-hundred. And each of us had to guess. I went first and chose 67. Someone chose 48. Someone chose 27. And don't I know the inner workings of the little lab Igor brain? Because the number he picked? 69. And now I have an organic lab to get through. Here was the dreaded lab drawer full of the needing to be tediously checked glassware:
And here is where I'll be spending every Wednesday afternoon from 12:30 until 3:30:
Looks rather cheery, doesn't it? Try to contain your envy. It so doesn't suit you. I should also write about the whole yellow card thing. Of course, you've figured out that "yellow carding" is how we little organizationally challenged beings get into closed classes (that is, classes that we don't have the foresight to register for when they're wide open), right? Right. So, there I was, with four yellow cards. And I needed to get into three classes: biochemistry, quant lab, and organic lab. I started to fill out the first yellow card and screwed it up. So I threw it out. The other three I decided to wait and see. The biochem class was stuffed to the gills. Every lecture the prof made a little speech about how not everyone who was trying to get in would get in and if we had a yellow card not to hold our collective breath and she'd make a decision about it based on some kind of need yada yada yada. The quant lab? Same thing. Organic lab? Well, if you read the above, you know it was the same thing. But the way the universe has been working this week has worked? I had three yellow cards. I needed into three classes. Ask. Receive. And now I have three signed yellow cards. I'm in, baby. Everything I've needed I've gotten. And somehow that almost--almost--makes up for not getting everything I've wanted. Thank you, Universe. I owe you one. Updated to add: I have this picture I took that I don't know where to put, so I'm putting it in right here. Not the best place for it, following the great big hug I'm trying to give the universe, but c'est la vie. This is the restroom nearest the escape pods where I often go to check my email and write these little missives:
That's really a tiny picture, isn't it? So I'll go ahead and tell you that you're looking at a couple of sinks on the left, the edge of a stall on the right, and in the center are a trashcan, a mirror and a radiator. Anyway, I love public restrooms and often dream about them. (How much stranger do you think me now?)
More lies:
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