My Education
My Weekends
My Religion
My Information
My Guilty Pleasure
My Role Model
For Your Eyes
For Your Ears
For Your Palate
For Your Touch
For Your Gag Reflex
For The Love of God

Friday, December 19, 2003

No Alarms

This is one of those days.

I read six pages of a nonEuclidean geometry textbook while daydreaming about a snowstorm I was in last year, and thinking ahead to the last semester which is going to resemble normal life for me. I consider rearranging my room. I realize that I haven't remembered a single word from the past ten precious minutes, now gone to oblivion. I refocus myself, reminding myself that I am a paltry few classes from finishing a major which I will never use, and no longer find interesting. I force the theorem in front of me to congeal into something sensible, and then realize that it's taken me fifteen minutes to make this series of P's and P-prime's tell me its arcane secret: I need to reflect the points and connect the dots. This depresses me further.

I spend five minutes flipping through channels, and stop on ESPN2... it's the NCAA Women's volleyball semifinals. Wisconson: 25, USC: 25. I watch this for a while. I think I know one of the girls playing for USC, but when they show her name and age, I realize that it can't be the same person. Unless the individual in question entered the witness protection program. I vaguely entertian the possibility of starting a private witness protection program. I realize that this is almost certianly in violation of roughly ten federal laws, and hence abandon the project. Back to studying: I go over the third exam (the one I was exempted from) and feel vaguely queezy about having been exempted from it. I would, on some level, have liked to take it, since it appears to be super easy.

I download the newest version of AIM, and see that you can now link screen names, making it so you can be signed on an infinite number of times from the same computer at the same time. I create five new screen names to test this theory. I carry on a thirty-second conversation with myself. I feel strangely schizophrenic, yet at the same time, empowered. I recognize the irony of having one of the names I create including solipsy. I spin in my chair. It's 12:30 AM, and I have a final in too few hours. I give up on the idea of getting a full night's sleep, and just resolve to study until I have everything down. Sleep be damned.

Five minutes later, the moral indignation comes. I feel an existential angst at having to learn senseless information which, by all accounts, is really just an intellectual curiosity rather than being true in the sense of epistemic validity. I consider writing this instead of the honor pledge on the exam. I resolve to do this, and start considering a decent wording. "Fuck this" is too crude, and the above is too pretentious. I settle on "I couldn't have cheated on this exam, since that would imply facts which preexist the theorems herein." I couldn't care less that this will: a) Get the grader immediately against me, b) help nothing. I am offended. I start considering what other moral stances I can take.

Finally, it's 12:50 and I need to go to bed. I give up on studying, and hope that I just magically know all the answers. I recognize that magical wishes are probably not likely to come through, and come post here becuase the alternative is yelling obscenities, and my housemates have dealt with enough of my pointless belligerence over the past week. I simply can't wait until I am back from Colorado with a month ahead of me to read chick-lit* and do things I actually enjoy.

*= The phrase "chick-lit" is in no way to denote a derrogatory stance towards women or any member of the human race who may, in some unforseen ambiguity, also be considered female. The use of "chick", in this context, is highly ironical as I have the utmost respect for both the chromosomal basis they represent as well as the works they have tirelessly concocted. If anyone is offended by this, I apologize.

cranked out at 12:45 AM | |

template © elementopia 2003
Chicken and/or Waffles
Be Objective
Be Qualitative
Be Mindless
Be Heartless
Be Confused
Be Aware
The Lounge
Appellate Blog