SUWUBBAZA, you say?
It's like "Say what?", but with a bit of mystery added by the faint hint of "bazaar" that tags along at the end. I did not just make that up. Really.
Last night, or, technically, early this morning, my brother IMed me saying he'd missed the final for one of his classes, because he'd just had the day wrong in his head. It made me so anxious I failed at sleeping. And at getting to bed in order to try to sleep at all. Bad. The reason for this epic failure is that, terrible as the damn fiasco is to start with, on top of that, as he explained, he got a C on the midterm in that class, ergo unless he can find a way to reschedule that final, he'll fail. And at schools like the ones we go to, which are big, sprawling, heaping state schools, no one gives a crap about you. That's the thing that depresses me most -- the feeling that no one (save my friends, of course) would really notice if I died, and that the administration would probably just assign my dorm to someone else, with the additional perk of free bedsheets and textbooks.
And those Christmas presents I still have in the closet, because I haven't been to my dad's house since September.
Anyway, if my brother does fail, my mother will eat him alive. And I really just don't want to have to deal with the utter pandemonium that will ensue. And I don't want blood all over my clothes. That shit's hard to get out.
As I was not sleeping as a result of the above issue, I also realized that, as utterly, breathtakingly beautiful as my school is in places, especially at certain times of the day, I'm coming to despise it simply because it represents to me tests and excruciatingly long lectures and the other insipidities that compose academia. I IS TIRED OF SCHOOL. And I'm also tired of trekking uphill to this class, that class, and the other class. Especially now that it's been getting warmer. And then it's really warm in some of the classrooms, and dreadfully cold in others. And it's just like FAIL.
In addition, the characters of Harry Potter don't like me anymore. Or maybe I don't like them. Or maybe we've mutually decided we just can't get along. I was trying to write a bit of a fic I'd planned for almost a week the other day, and it just turned out badly. Whatev. Guess I'll just stick to original stuff for a little while. I wrote five drabbles for a certain pair of Cataracta folks yesterday. FIVE. For a rousing grand total of 1,055 words. Which is not actually that much, now that I look at it. Urk.
This is from like February. But it's still true. Sums up juuuust about everything.
Including the fact that I can't draw thumbs, which is a case in point.
Now I need to go do some math for my astronomy homework. And then go write a five-to-seven-page paper.