Thursday, November 07, 2002
Cross my heart and hope to die
Roughly 78-80% on the pharm practise exam. Wrote down every single drug name that was mentioned, even the ones that I know inside and out, to go over in the morning. I figure...if he puts it on a practise question, he must think it's worth mentioning.
Think I studied the right things. Hitting the sack. Sleeping.
If I can.
Exam-tomorrow(Exam-today?) Exam-Monday, then ten whole days to catch up, make notes, and take a few hours off. Maybe going with little-Rachel and her-Scott to see Harry Potter on Friday, to be social and things. I like Rachel. She's sweet.
Okay, God. I'm doing my part. Don't you back out of this now. We're a team, we are. You and I.
I think so, Brain, but where are we going to get a piece of Saran Wrap that big...?
It's quiet in here. So quiet...
So of course the first thing I did was turn on the stereo. Bach's organ works. Yummy.
Last night, behind my eyes: A ballet dancer, pirouetting, in the midst of a giant eye ringed with flame. Sauron has a ballerina in his pupil.
But that was overshadowed by the flock of paper cranes. Someone had rather cleverly folded them feet...and they came gliding along, beaks and little paper talons all bloody, like some sort of demented origami rendition of The Birds.
Sometimes, I wonder if my subconscious is just trying to fuck with my conscious. Maybe I should send it to therapy, while I stay home and study. Teach it to send homicidal paper cranes into my head, yeah!
If I were my subconscious, I'd rather be in therapy than studying. If I were my subconscious, I'd campaign for electroconvulsive therapy, just to be really pissy. If I were my...
...It's too quiet in here. It's way too friggin' quiet in here. *turns up Bach until the couch vibrates* If I had five minutes alone with my subconscious, I'd give it a sucker. An opioid sucker. A good big one, so that it'd stay sedated for a very long time.
And I have to study now.
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Currently taking suggestions:
Tell me this isn't how the day is going to be...
Yesterday: headache from too much computerness, but typing these notes out is helping me unbelievable amounts.
So I worked through it. And finally managed to kill the bugger at 4 AM with two benadryl and a matched pair of Aleve. Which meant that I was so completely wiped when the alarm failed to go off properly at 6:30 and again at 7:30...that I woke up at 2 till 8, and went:
"oh, shit!"
20-25 minute drive to IPFW. Class at 8:30. You do the math.
Fortunately, the prof was late too. Not-so-fortunately, I'm still wiped from the Benadryl, and kept falling asleep, waking up only in time to highlight the next section as he got to it.
Notecards for 2.5 sections done during Pharm and Medicine. Gods, today was worthless. Over-the-counter antacids the whole damn class. Read the labels, learn more than we did.
Going home now. To an empty apartment - because Jefe has taken Lily away for some much-needed space. Just...be careful, darling. You know what I mean.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
...and I'm all out of gum...
Walked into the Pathology exam this morning, all a-tremble. Reading my notes in the morning, went in early even though the exam was only 37 questions. All prepared to be repeatedly raped by the blasted thing (check for P32 antigen and acid phosphatase, afterwards, to prove it!)
Sat down, looked at the first question. Thought: "I know this."
Looked at the second question. Thought: "Oh, God, I don't know this." Then I read the answers and crossed out the bits I knew weren't true. There was only one answer left.
Repeat for 37 questions. Go over test again, as I write my answers on the answer sheet.
Checkmarks for the ones I'm 100% sure of. No marks if I have any doubt. Circles where I'm really unsure if I've picked the right one - including the question on cardiac enzymes where I second-guessed myself and changed it from test to answer sheet.
I shouldn't do that. I was right the first time.
Counted them up. 37 questions. Three with circles, seven with no marks. At approximately 3 points a pop, that makes a worst-case scenario of 70%. I can deal with 70%. Better case: I get half of the ones I wasn't completely sure of right, because I was fairly sure of them. Which would give me a 79%. That would be better. Thoughts: I could really use an 82 on the exam, though, because then I'd be absolutely certain that I were passing the class. That means...I can miss six. Which is possible but unlikely.
Went over the three I wasn't sure about again. Funny, I still wasn't sure of them. Figured I was only making myself needlessly neurotic, turned the exam in, and went outside to take deep breaths.
Went back half an hour later to check with Lowene (the darling, the marvel, the wonder-woman) and see what the verdict was. Thinking 80%, hoping 85%, opened the folder and flipped several pages to make sure I was looking at the right exam.
89%, boys and girls!
Eighty-nine fucking percent. I haven't been this happy in a long time.
So I'm passing everything right now, and I have a little bit of a buffer to keep me from utter despair. Now I just have to make it through this week, and do as well in Pharm and the Lab exam.
Exam-Friday Exam-Monday.Then...a whole 10 days before the next exam.
6 exams and finals left. 22 days of actual class left. Then I'll be through another semester.
They say it gets better. Not easier - just better. I could cope with better.
Monday, November 04, 2002
Status Epilepticus
Don't run, Lex. This isn't a studyish LJ entry.
Well, not much. I'll keep the big words to a minumum :)
So pharm lecture he's almost an entire class period behind - so he started the lecture on movement disorders in the last five minutes of class. Now you have to understand that this man thinks he's the resident computer whiz in the school of Medicine, so he likes to use cutesy-ass graphics on his pages.
And so for movement d/o (that's medical abbreviation for disorder) he's got this BRIGHT YELLOW title up on the screen, and it's going in and out of focus, and shifting slightly, and these little black dots crawling all over it...and I almost went nuts. Couldn't look at the bedamned thing without feeling like I was (a) going to have a seizure or (b) vomit.
And he left it up there for five freakin' minutes while he talked about all the little pictures of famous people with movement d/o that were up there around this crawling, moving, shifting, nauseating title.
I almost died.
Question breakdown for tomorrow's pathology exam:
Pediatric pathology: 9 questions
Enzymes and clinical disease markers: 6 questions
Body fluids (which, against everyone's hopes, was only cerebrospinal fluid, pleural (lung) fluid, and synovial (joint) fluid): 6 questions
Neoplasia - also known as cancer to the uninitiated: 16 questions
Total: 37 questions. I bloody well hate short exams.
Three true/false questions: Note that medical students abhor true/false questions, because we're so used to being fucked with and jerked around by exams that it takes us five minutes per question to scrutinise every single word and find the one minute detail that's false in it. And then another five minutes to wonder if that's really false or if we're being overly anal-retentive.
This is the kind of paranoia that is instilled in us. This is the kind of paranoia that drives Meeta to go up to the professor and ask if "all" means "all kinds of mutations ever possible in the gene" or "all common mutations that we know of". Don't fucking sass us back, woman. We've been run roughshod over by semantics before now, and will be again. We have to be sure, because every single point is vital.
Five K-type questions. Those are the (A): 1,2, and 3 are correct (B) 1 and 2 are correct, etc, etc. type of questions. And they suck. Hate 'em, because there's always one answer I'm not sure about, and so I agonise forever over it.
Okay. Lab in 10. *deepbreaths* Exam Tuesday-Exam Friday-Exam Monday...and then a break. I can do this.
Really.
Suuummmmerrrrtiiiiiime.......
....and the livin' is eaaaaasy....
Hey, space case! You forgot to take the mail down again!
Behind my eyes last night: Nothing but pain. I hate having a headache. This morning I woke up early and as I was going back to sleep I saw my classes.
Bob and Tom show this morning had a song: "Dear Santa:"
Dear Santa: This is Jessica from Aspen.
I want a Barbie Townhouse with the electric car and all the pretty outfits and some matching outfits for me...
Dear Santa: This is from Paraguay. I want some rain.
So I can stop drinking my own urine.
...And so on.
Favourites:
The kid from North Chicago wants a G.I. Joe with all the accessories and the mini-grenade launcher.
The kid from Laos wants a grenade launcher.
Dear Santa: I want a stick. So I can burn it to keep warm.
There's a deep and meaningful point to this, but I don't have to belabour it. Back to class.
Sunday, November 03, 2002
All through the day...
Behind my eyes last night: manilla folders. Closed ones, in a dimly lit room. Flipping slowly from one identical folder to the next.
Got Shandahr brigged on Ansible. Log posted here. As if everyone hasn't already seen it.
Page 4 of 11 of body fluids, then I'll be through it all once. I hate school. Exam Tuesday. Then Friday-Monday.
Bed.
Good morning, Starshine
Walked out to the car this morning to discover that my dad has kamikaze trees.
The two cars under the tree were literally covered in leaves, and more were falling at the rate of five or ten a second, tumbling down. I don't know how the blasted things manage to do this for days on end - you'd think they'd run out of leaves before the end of the first day. So we're scraping frost off the windshield, I'm picking leaves out of the wipers, and all in all it's a losing battle because I had to pick leaves out of the wipers at least twice before Matt could get the frost off the windshield, and he missed some because of the leaves.
But then we got to hear them sliding off the roof and blowing off the hood, and that was fun.
Got a word from Chelly yesterday via Mom: the BCA kids are making Thanksgiving dinner themselves, and of course they wanted to include green bean casserole. But they couldn't find any french fried onions - how can you make green bean casserole without french fried onions?
So Mom got Chelly the e-mail address of French's customer service department or some such, and she wrote them a note, asking where she could find french fried onions in France so she could make green bean casserole for the BCA kids in Nancy to have a real American Thanksgiving dinner while they were away from home.
And they sent her ten cans.
Isn't that just too cool?
Saturday, November 02, 2002
Mmmm....Vampireness....
Rawr!
Matt asked me for a LJ code today. I thought "Gosh, I don't think I'm allowed to make users...I'm just a lowly free account person..." but I looked anyway. And sure enough, I got one little code... How cool is that? Just for my Angel.
His LJ name is 
lakos, which is the name he uses for everything. Because nobody else does. Me...I like Ayradyss. It's the name of Donnerjack's virtual lover in Zelazny's postumous book 'Donnerjack'...and she's so neat. The book is a must-read.
Mage: Epic Fantasy game went through tonight. Finally. Z-wad, darling, baby, don't ever leave us alone on a Saturday night again. I'm having so much fun.
Those of you who are interested...you must see the logs and quotes. The game's just too much fun. We're the cabal without a name yet (tentatively: hell's errand boys) at the top.
Bed. Sleep. Remove contacts that are eating my eyes.
For Clarabear, who asked:
Behind my eyes on Wednesday night: grocery store isles, with a Blair-Witch-esque video camera
Thursday: Nothing, then a technicolour slide show of lights and lines.
Friday: I don't remember.
Oh, and a few more things: A new log of truly horrendous RP: here on my website. If you haven't looked before, you might want to peek at the whole RP section. Because I'm told it's funny.
Chavaling: If you don't give me those Hermione pictures as soon as you get them, I'm going to eat your eyes while they're still in your head. Oh, and make sure you dry the outfit after your showers or it will get mildew-y.
Tomb Raider. Must drag eyes away from Angelina Jolie and go sleep. Yes.
lakos, which is the name he uses for everything. Because nobody else does. Me...I like Ayradyss. It's the name of Donnerjack's virtual lover in Zelazny's postumous book 'Donnerjack'...and she's so neat. The book is a must-read.
Mage: Epic Fantasy game went through tonight. Finally. Z-wad, darling, baby, don't ever leave us alone on a Saturday night again. I'm having so much fun.
Those of you who are interested...you must see the logs and quotes. The game's just too much fun. We're the cabal without a name yet (tentatively: hell's errand boys) at the top.
Bed. Sleep. Remove contacts that are eating my eyes.
For Clarabear, who asked:
Behind my eyes on Wednesday night: grocery store isles, with a Blair-Witch-esque video camera
Thursday: Nothing, then a technicolour slide show of lights and lines.
Friday: I don't remember.
Oh, and a few more things: A new log of truly horrendous RP: here on my website. If you haven't looked before, you might want to peek at the whole RP section. Because I'm told it's funny.
Chavaling: If you don't give me those Hermione pictures as soon as you get them, I'm going to eat your eyes while they're still in your head. Oh, and make sure you dry the outfit after your showers or it will get mildew-y.
Tomb Raider. Must drag eyes away from Angelina Jolie and go sleep. Yes.
What do I do?
Locked to a very few people. People I trust...who worry same as I do. Because I am worried.
Two conversations: the first with Ayoka.
It may not have been my place to mention Bri to her - but at the time I did, I had no idea that he hadn't said a word to her. Maybe I would have, if I had thought about it. Because there would be no reason for him to do so. But I did tell her about the girl with her head curled up on his shoulder, and she was happy for him.
----
She pages, "Mmm, dunno. I'm happy for him. A bit of...residual jealousy that I really have no right to feel, but mostly happy for him. Why?"
(remotely) Ayoka smiles. "Seems so. It's a childish reaction to the memory of him saying that he'd always love me. Don't worry about it
She pages, "I'm happy where I am, and if he's happy where he is, then I'm glad for him."
---
I don't know. Am I out of my mind, to think that those are the words of a woman who's moving on with her life?
---
(remotely) Wren shakes his head. "Don't mind me."
Wren pages, "Feeling like a bit of a slimeball, worried about Bri, knowing this probably won't work, what else is there...."
(to Wren) Vita sighs softly. "Can I ask what you two decided? What I heard from her was that there was 'still a lot to work out' but that you were going to try."
Wren pages, "we need to talk more still...I don't know. I to.d her I was confused, and would like to stay with her, but...I just feel like it's not going to work. Mostly because of me..."
(remotely) Wren is afraid he mostly decided to try again because he couldn't stand seeing her cry
Wren has received your page: "Because of Cyb? Have you talked to cyb about this at all?"
Wren pages, "Not especially, no"
Wren pages, "I don't have any friggin free TIME to talk to her"
(to Wren) Vita mms. I can see that. Just seems like if you're going to make decisions based on your feelings for her that you should at least be sure you know how she feels.
Wren pages, "every waking second, and most of the sleeping ones are either here at work, or with lil"
Wren pages, "I honestly don't think it matters much how she feels"
Wren has received your page: "No?"
Wren pages, "Not to how I'll feel still. "
Wren pages, "she could probably tell me it'll never happen, and I'd still hope."
(remotely) Wren sighs. "I don't know
(to Wren) Vita sighs softly.
(remotely) Wren needs to go
(to Wren) Vita nods.
Wren pages, "she's happy now, and for now, that's all that matters, we'll worry about the future later"
----
Am I wrong, to be worried? I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say.
This isn't about love any more. This is about holding on to a dream that has shaped your life for so long that you do not know how to let go of it.
What do I do?
Friday, November 01, 2002
Random gaming quotes: Vampire
GM: So you were taking your sister aside and teaching her about being a vampire...
Matt: Teaching her? I'm tying her to the roof.
Jeff: I need sustenance. Come, polish my helmet - chomp.
Matt: Two Agg for a dead end?
Me: What? Somebody put up a holy water fog machine?
Jeff: If you lick the wound, he won't bleed to death.
Lily: Yes, but then I'd have to get my dress all bloody.
Me: So do you spit or swallow when you diablerize?
....And one extra.
[Public] Frellin' Comcast...did they eat the Internet?
[Public] Mortis can get sites....
[Public] Chavaleh ate it, "Sorry.. it smelled really good."
For some reason, I just laughed my ass off at that one.
About being a Wiz...
A preface to the following conversation:
I am a Wizard on GargoyleMOO, which is where the following conversation took place. It's modelled after the Gargoyles TV show from Toon Disney - loads of fun - and our policy, as I explain several times in the following conversation, is that we build landmarks in NYC by request - if people think that a particular landmark would be fun to have for RP purposes, we check the maps and fit it in wherever it ought to go. This sacrifices a bit of realism for the larger fun of not having to wander all over a maze of a map to find where anyone is.
At the risk of sounding self-centred, I am the Wizard that the others go to for diplomatic solutions to problem players. I have a reputation for patience, self-control, and a deft touch. I pride myself on trying to be fair and patient, in listening to requests and considering them seriously - too seriously, in the minds of some people who also Wizard.
Bear this in mind.
>>> Player_A tells you "= do you know whom to talk to about NYC landmarks on this MUCK?"
>>> You tell Player_A, "Start by talking to me."
>>> Player_A tells you "would you like any help in the location os some--I have 57 sights marked on my NYC map"
>>> Player_A tells you "= of some"
>>> You tell Player_A, "Basically - we build things as they're requested for RP reasons. We're not looking to create a complete map of New York - it'd be wasteful of database space."
>>> Player_A tells you "= so you know where in NYC the 23rd is? ANd the Manhattan Mall, The WTC? St. Damien's? The Cloisters--"
>>> You tell Player_A, "They're on the maps I have."
>>> You tell Player_A, "In any case, it's Ground Zero - not the WTC, but that's a semantic thing."
>>> You tell Player_A, "The offer of help is appreciated, though."
>>> Player_A tells you "= what about: The Garden, Pen Station, Bellvue, UNHQ, Chrystler BLDG, Grand Central, NY Lib-Main, Embire State, Wash Arch, Gugenheim, Woolworth Bldg, Fed Resrv, Stock Exch/Wall St, Titanic Mem Lighthouse, Chinatown/Little Italy, City Hall, Brooklyn BRDG, Grand ARmy Plaza, Riker's Is, Woodlawn Cem, Bronx Zoo, Ft. Lee, Cen Park Zoo, Trump Tower (or is that the Eyrie ;) ), Rockefeller Center, MoMA, NBC, Park Ave, Queensboro BRDG, MetLife Bldg, Brooklyn Botanical Gardens?"
>>> Player_A tells you "= well? any of those needed here?"
>>> Player_A tells you "= well? any of those needed here?">>> You tell Player_A, "We have a set of botanical gardens already; you'd have to check with Arazia to see which. Other than that, I have heard only one request for a new area for RP, and that was Cardinal Hayes HS, which was built. So at the moment, no."
>>> Player_A tells you "= well, if you need the geo-locations (cross streets) let me know."
>>> You tell Player_A, "I will."
>>> Player_A tells you "= and you did palce Card Hays at 650 Grand Concouse Bronx, New York 10451, right?"
>>> Player_A tells you "= corss street is E 151st & it's enct to Franz Sigel Park"
>>> Player_A tells you "= next to Franz*"
>>> Player_A tells you "= it's a couple blocks from Yankee Stadium"
>>> You tell Player_A, "None of the streets are built block by block. It's on Grand Concourse, north of Eugenio Maria de Hostos, where it belongs according to the city map and the aerial pictures."
And that was the last before he disconned. My next response, if he fed me another cross street, was going to be:
And, quite honestly, if you're hoping to demonstrate that your knowledge of New York is better than mine, you're completely correct. If you're trying to accomplish something constructive I suggest you try a different tack - because your didactic recitation of places, addresses and cross streets is doing no more than establishing to me that your purported desire to 'help' is a thinly-veiled attempt at claiming some kind of superiority over the builders. As I stated, our interest is in creating a sufficiently diverse representation of New York that people have places to roleplay - in the style of the Gargoyles series - not to create a perfect block-by-block reproduction of the city, nor to build sightseeing areas just to claim that we have them there.
A few facts about the player in question:
The list produced by @rules specifically states that public communication should be kept to a PG-13 level - with a note that sexual references should be kept to a minimum.
This particular player, when he first came onto the MOO, had a description that raised even my jaded eyebrows. Keep in mind that I play a character elseMOO who is a 13-year-old whore with a penchant for stabbing any man she can't seduce. I've created characters with backgrounds and personalities so twisted that my GM demanded I tone them down before he could stomach the history ("I will not countenance, even in fiction, the gang-rape of a two-year-old girl.") But I try to stay within the bounds of the rules of the MOO. On a PG-13 MOO I describe and RP in a PG-13 manner.
Being the diplomatic one, I raised the question of his description...and requested specifically that he remove the paragraph that described his "maleness" specifically. Following is the description that replaced it. The one that he insisted was entirely appropriate.
Standing before you in a hunched over 6' feet tall, not including the 4' long tapered conical tail is, at 1st glance, a furson that bears a remarkable semblance to the World famous Gargoyle known as Brooklyn of Clan Manhattan nee Wyvern. The foot-long pointed beak, white bushy mane of hair held position by twin horse just over & foot long & curving backwards along the head's top, & even the wiry, slightly muscular physique is an almost identical recreation to the previously said individual.
But it's on your 2nd look you realize, unlike Clan Manhattan's 2nd in command, this Gargoyle is jet black-so much so that his hide-skin partially reflects any light source making his physique seem slightly, permanently wet, as if he had been recently exercising.
At the end of his wiry, muscular arms are strong hands with 3 sharply clawed fingers & an equally sharp-clawed thumb. Quickly roving downward, you see that he stands digitgrade on long thin slightly triangular shaped jacklegs, ending in 3 claws just as sharp as hind fingers'. A 4th claw just out slightly at the top of the foot-where the heel would be-like a dewclaw.
Another key factor that separates your focus from his "twin" is the fact that, unlike Brooklyn & his 10th Century dark brown loincloth, this "Creature of the Night" wears a harness made of thin black leather straps centered on a thin but solid gold ring in the middle of his chest. At the waist, a thin black leather belt holds up a black bikini-codpiece-like brief barely hiding his-it's definitely larger-than-human maleness with a "string" running between the legs, to meet up at a black leather loops that surrounds the thick tail. The leather seems to share his hid color & reflectiveness as to seem a part of him, until you see the straps move slightly apart from his musculature.
I don't know, y'all. That just really isn't a PG-13 description. I mean - scanty clothing, suggestive outfits, sure. I can see that. But the phrase larger-than-human maleness, the codpiece on the string bikini, and the general S&M demeanour of the beast....if this is "keeping sexual references to a minimum," I'm frightened.
Not to mention that I've seen him RP a mere once or twice in the five months he's been a player. Most of the time he spends online is spellchecking, critiquing, and causing me headaches.
I am a reasonable woman. At least...I strive to be. This, however, is just too much.
Death and rebirth
South Harrison, at the Creighton stoplight, is wide enough for a northbound lane, a southbound lane, and a parked-car lane. Assuming, that is, that
- everyone is in their lanes like proper motorists
- one doesn't mind about 6 inches of spare space on either side of one's car.
A full two frelling FEET out from the curb.
Remember those 6 inches? The darling going north scraped the curb with his wheels and I did that particular parked-car slalom at like 3 miles an hour. And as I'm accelerating back to travelling speed, glad that Harrison widens to almost four cars' width by the time it jogs at Rudisill, I see that the front end of this parked obstruction is all banged up and bashed to hell.
This is a prime example of the "learn to park, asshole," syndrome.
At the risk of hearing my lovely Clarabear tell me she never wants me to drive again, here's another "Someone wants to kill me" car story.
There's a curve in town. At the Columbia Street bridge, for those of you who know Fort Wayne. Where it goes under the tracks and turns into Clay and Main. Two lanes of traffic - narrow lanes, but fully wide enough for me to drive my dad's full-sized Chevy conversion van through without endangering life or limb, even as a reckless 16-year-old. Now I'm driving Michel-Ange, who is my wonderful 1987 Honda Accord with 229,000 miles and a stick shift on it. He's a good car, even if I think he might be gay. It's the purple-tinted windows and the pink "Protected by faeries" sticker that does it to me.
Anyway. The curve, as mentioned, goes over the bridge and then curves left into a fairly smooth 60-degreee turn as it passes under the tracks. No trouble at all at 30 miles an hour. Whoosh. You can add in the fact that on the left side of this left curve (the inside of the curve) there's a concrete divider that's pretty darn solid-looking, and on the right - the right lane is slightly wider - the lane curves right through a green arrow stoplight and onto Main. Sort of a very casual S-shape for geriatric slalom artists. It is easily navigable in an 88 Civic at 60 miles an hour, although I'll never do that again.
I'm in the left lane. To my right is a large white van with no windows in the back - the kind they abduct children in. And maybe, maybe there was a kid in the back or something and that excuses this asshole. Or not. As we come around the LEFT turn, he drifts LEFT. That's correct - takes the turn even tighter than he needs to, apparently because he's afraid of the 3-inch curb on his right, or the bridge post that's six feet from the road makes him nervous. This puts him a good six inches to a foot into my (already narrow) lane. I didn't honk my horn. Instead, I hit the brakes, grabbed the wheel to hold the car on the straight and narrow between child-abducting van and extremely-tough-looking concrete, and let him have the road. He's like five times the size of poor Michel-Ange. And as I then hit the gas, speed back up to a whopping twenty-five miles an hour, and glance over at him in the last moments before he turns right and I go straight, trying to decide if I should flip him off or not, I see him giving me the Glare of Death (tm) that motorists reserve for reckless teen-age drivers over his shoulder.
Whoever you are, wherever you are, I just want to know one thing.
You could have turned my car into some sort of mutant car-pedo shape. The hell do you get off on looking at me like that, when you're the one who can't colour in the fucking lines?
There's a Sprite can in our driveway. Left side, where if I tried, I could run over it. It's been there for three days of so. I keep thinking I should run over it, but I'm afraid (1) it'll be full, and somehow make my tire blow up (2) It's full of something noxious which (a) will melt my car or (b) render Michel-Ange into a Towering Inferno of Automotive Doom (tm), from which I will have to escape, napalm-style, and roll in the lawn.
And then I'll smell like burned hair for decades.
One more.
As I come up Crescent (for those of you who know the area), just before you get to Coliseum, there's a divider between the northish (north-easterly?) and southish (south-westerly? I get all confused when Crescent starts crescenting, can't figure out which way's north any more.) A divider. A big one - the kind that means "Don't turn left here."
The motorist in question (I'd post his license plate on the Internet, but I'm too busy driving to stop and write it down), rather than going up to the light, doing a perfectly legal U-turn, and heading the half-block back down to the ITT-Tech (am I right? Or is it another Tech there?) campus, where he could then make a perfectly legal right turn into the campus drive, will stop right where the divider begins. In the middle of the left lane of Crescent, when people are driving, forcing everyone to change lanes to get around this asshole with the left blinker on in the middle of the fucking road. And he will sit there. And sit there. And sit there. Until the light at Coliseum turns red, stopping the influx of south-westerly-bound traffic. Assuming, of course, nobody wants to make a perfectly legal right turn onto Crescent. Because as soon as all lanes are clear, he crosses the median and goes a good half-block north in the southwest lane, crossing the three (counting the special right-turn lane to get into the campus drive) lanes of traffic at a leisurely 10 miles an hour. And turns into the drive as if that were legal, safe, and perfectly reasonable.
Totally ignoring the fact that maybe, just maybe that divider is there so that assholes like him don't clot up all of Crescent Avenue with their desire to make a left turn across three lanes of traffic, ONE BLOCK from a light (with a green arrow left and everything) where they could U-turn and then make a perfectly safe and reasonable right into the campus.
Clarabear, sometimes I wonder if you're right not to want to drive.
'nuff said....
And when the day is through
Each night I hurry to
A home where love waits, I know...
Come right down to it,
I guess I'm just a lucky
So and so.
Open season on interpretations, take two: "Metea"
Images garnered from previous poetry, for the most part.
In dreams of never linger stars
with the pull of invisible eyes.
There are mermaids in the sky
with forever on their lips;
their whispered words call soft and sweet to me.
In waking dawn I whisper why
to the ears of impenitent I.
There are dragons in the sea
with remembrance in their eyes;
their silent song draws stillness within me.
In sunlight bold sings a faerie child
and asks whether dreams can lie.
There are angels in the earth
with forgiveness on their wings;
their sacred breath brings wonder to me.
In evening's shadows whispers night
and begs me to waken wild.
There are devils in the clouds
with vengeance in their swords;
their murmurs rise up murder within me.
In midnight's hour I linger long
and watch with invisible eyes.
There is a maiden in the night
with oblivion in her kiss
her whispered words of love ensorcel me.
01-Nov-2002
Open season on interpretations, take 1: "teddy bear"
The person for whom this is intended should have less trouble than the rest of you
Phoenix child,
with wings of pain,
rise soaring above the clouds.
Your eyes are ashen,
your eyes are grey,
your heart is afire and O
the light of stars
is calling you now.
Mermaid child,
with eyes of night,
the oceans flow into the sea.
Your hands are trembling,
your hands are free,
your dreams unfold and O
the eyes of stars
are watching you now.
Icicle child,
with hands of frost,
defy the winter's cold.
Your heart is frozen,
your heart is lost,
your soul is untethered and O
the summer stars
will warm you now.
Unwoven child
with a heart of flame,
come back, come close, don't stray.
Your wings are battered,
your wings are frail
Your eyes are ashen but O
the light of stars
is in them now.
01-November-02
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Just fucking wonderful.
Was about to hit the Hibernate key combo on the laptop when the screen goes black and it powers down.
Turns out the fucking power brick was unplugged, and none of my alarms - not the 85%, not the 10%, not the 3%, none of them.
Best guess: it's a conflict between the two battery monitors.
So I power it back up after plugging it in...and it's then that I realise that even though the last-saved time on my file is 12:09 AM, the data in the file is from 7:00 PM, when I started working on my notes.
It takes an hour to retype one page of notes. I had done pages 12-17 and was done with pediatric pathology.
Now I've got to start over from Cystic Fibrosis.
Fuck.
What Sign of Affection Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla A kiss on the lips, dang it.
What's Your Personality Type?
brought to you by Quizilla
Which Harry Potter Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
What box do you get put in?
brought to you by Quizilla
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)