(77) Backplay: Early Morning Scare
In about half an hour I will have to eat lunch and then walk to my high school to return my math and phys books, and maybe talk to some teachers. I'm not quite sure on the latter yet - the thing is, I would like to speak with teachers, but not with the students who are going to be with the teachers. Don't like students. Not close with any underclassmen, you see.
But until then, I might as well listen to Gothic Metal on Pandora and write in my LJ. I could also do some other things, like finish crocheting my scarf and read Eldest or Dracula or that book on how acting techniques was developed (the latter two lent to me by Steve) -- but none of them look quite so appealing at the moment. Eldest especially not -- if it were any other fantasy book with a dragon on the front I'd maybe go for it, but it's by Chistopher Paolini, peoples. The guy who got famous for writing a book of bad writing and ripped-off ideas, all because he was under the average publishing age. Geez. People in my writing class can do better. The only reason I might read Eragon is to see what plagiaristic devices the idiot pulled off, and as a study on how one's writing can get better with practice. Apparently, the book's beginning pages are filled with choppy, short sentences, and the end has a more fully-formed style. (The hell? Did Mr. Paolini understand the idea of revision? Was this change intentional? A book shouldn't even have this sort of thing - not a published one, at any rate!)
...Damn. In my rant on Paolini and Eldest, I forgot what I was orginally going to write about.
Oh, wait. Survival_temari reminded me (aren't these icons great?):
Last Friday morning, I was getting ready with Steve to leave the room at 7:40am. Both of us had Chem exams at 8:00am - his Analytical, me Chem 102. My mom was supposed to be here 20 minutes earlier with a breakfast for me (she insisted), but because she still hadn't arrived I assumed that she wasn't going to come. He and I were standing right in front of the door - I was doing a last sweep-check of necessary items before leaving -- when oh shit, there comes two knocks on the door and a hand pushes it open.
You get a gold star if you can guess who it is.
Both of us go into emergency mode. Steve - that wonderful, brilliant guy - steps into the area behind the door, plastering his body against the wall to keep out of sight. I do damage control - step forward, take the package, keep the door from fully opening and my mom from entering, and try to shield the extremely messy, food-box-laden, blankets-spread-on-floor, pillows-off-bed room from her view.
I don't know if the latter bit worked, but Steve and I think she didn't see him. Thankfully practically all his stuff was already packed away in the suitcase or taken back to his dorm, so there wasn't anything obvious lying out. Personally though, I believe I'm going to hear (loudly) about how I'm a slob when she gets mad at me (which will definitely happen in these three weeks). I'm just waiting for the axe of doom...
Morals from this story? Two.
1) Somebody needs to tell my mom that it's very rude to enter someone's dorm without notification by way of calling first. This same somebody also needs to tell her that it's not necessary for her to bring me food in the morning - especially not on exam day.
2) I need to start locking my door.