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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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A thru D(emon)
A) This just in: My love affair with caffeine continues unabated. Trying to slam a lukewarm student union coffee before quant lab. Ugh. B) The plan for the rest of the day: Will go to lab. Do an insane number of titrations in four hours. Meet Magdalene and Mel for coffee. Go to the gym. Go to organic chem lecture. Go back to the gym. Go home and collapse. C) What any of it might mean is unclear: I want something more out of life than bad and expensive coffee and days that I try to pack full to keep from thinking of what's missing.
D) The incredible horniness continues: I was sitting in quant lecture this morning imagining fucking the handsome boy with the limp. And the darling quant lecture professor who is, perhaps, a dozen years older than my grandfather might be if he were alive today. And the annoying boy who sits next to me and who was in my eukaryotic gene transcription class last semester. And the girl from the studio who is auditing the class. Dammit. This could get to be a problem, couldn't it? Updated to add: Just finished with coffee with Magdalene and Mel. And I�ll tell you what, Mel was so doing the sub-cult kid thing today. She was damn cute and cut Maggie out of the conversation in that way that made me wonder who was trying to intimidate whom and who was actually being intimidated by whom. Don�t know. But I hadn�t seen Mel in a while and it was nice to catch up with her. She�s a girl on the move, that one. Also, she always looks terrific and I love hanging out with her because it nets me just that much more attention. And I had just left the dreaded quant lab which lasted all four fabulous hours. And I didn�t finish my experiment, which means that it�s all about titrations next week as well. Goddammit. That lab was so designed not to teach us acid-base chemistry, but to teach us patience. Seven titrations in four hours. With both pH meters and end-point indicators. I made it through six titrations, which was about average as apparently over 50% of the students haven�t finished this lab. There was some poor woman who, my God, had to do her first titration for over three hours because she kept screwing it up. Poor thing. I think I would�ve left the lab in tears if that had been me. I think I would�ve left in tears and not come back as a matter of fact. But she was a trooper. I should have said something to her, offered some kind of moral support, but I just wasn�t up to talking to her. At the end of six titrations, I was feeling a bit short tempered naturally. And so anything I could have said was not going to be supportive. And for the past week, I�ve been running into people who don�t recognize (or, sometimes more distressingly, do recognize) me. I ran into The Demon Who Doesn�t Matter (Protein Sink Demon) on Monday. (He pretended not to know me, which is just fine, as he�s an ass.) I ran into Bernardo on Tuesday and The Stalker on Wednesday. (Neither recognized me.) I ran into Studio Karla just now. It�s a potential sub-lesson�or perhaps the opportunity to say goodbye on some level. (Or perhaps that�s the lesson?) And so I don�t know. Sometimes you never do. It�s almost time for the dreaded organic chemistry lecture.
More lies:
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