Excuse Me While I Waste My Time.
The flood of Noah has returned. But I never would've thought it would be here. It's almost like a Florida storm outside.
But it's fitting; me here with my white mocha... it reminds me of Oxford. Sitting in a coffee shop on a street that's hundreds of years old, sipping peppermint mocha, reading Shakespeare, and feeling marvelously bohemian.
I love how you can feel the coffee slide all the way into your stomach. It feels like Christmas.
Anyway, I have once again thrown myself to the wolves - I've done the typical Stanford thing: I've overcommitted. I'm doomed to no sleep, no time, and no relaxation. So why am I so happy about it???
On top of the Republican society, the Film society, AKPsi, the Stanford Japan Exchange Club, and being the Acting Director for the Hip-Hopera, I am now also.... dum dum dum! The Assistant Costume Designer for Othello! Add that to my 20 units and...
Screw me.
Here's the important stuff: Sabrina rescued me AGAIN. I call her up at 10:30 last night because now that I've finally sat down to do my problem set (I couldn't before because of chores and nonsense, not procrastination, I SWEAR), I realize that I can't understand it AT ALL. And I do mean AT ALL. Nada. Nothing. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. So I thought to myself, "Who could I turn to who understands this stuff? Oh, I KNOW! Sabrina! She's a Philosophy major and what she likes is the logic side of it." So I call her up sounding pathetic and she goes,"Philosophy 57? I love that class! That's the class that made me a Philosophy major." To make a long story short, she was oddly excited by the idea of staying up late and doing logic for no good reason. So she drives over, picks me up, and teaches me the book and the homework until 4:30am. It was insane. It was glorious. I can't pay her back.
PLUS, one of her roommates is moving out next quarter and she wants me to move in. And Mirrelees is exactly where I was trying to get into. And the disability resources office told me that it's possible to get into that specific room, I just have to pull a few strings.
Hence the strange combination of hope, stress, and bohemianism that is me right now. I'm about to write my film paper which'll just bring out that artsy feeling even more. Or homicidal tendencies if I can't get it together. We'll see which comes out...
But it's fitting; me here with my white mocha... it reminds me of Oxford. Sitting in a coffee shop on a street that's hundreds of years old, sipping peppermint mocha, reading Shakespeare, and feeling marvelously bohemian.
I love how you can feel the coffee slide all the way into your stomach. It feels like Christmas.
Anyway, I have once again thrown myself to the wolves - I've done the typical Stanford thing: I've overcommitted. I'm doomed to no sleep, no time, and no relaxation. So why am I so happy about it???
On top of the Republican society, the Film society, AKPsi, the Stanford Japan Exchange Club, and being the Acting Director for the Hip-Hopera, I am now also.... dum dum dum! The Assistant Costume Designer for Othello! Add that to my 20 units and...
Screw me.
Here's the important stuff: Sabrina rescued me AGAIN. I call her up at 10:30 last night because now that I've finally sat down to do my problem set (I couldn't before because of chores and nonsense, not procrastination, I SWEAR), I realize that I can't understand it AT ALL. And I do mean AT ALL. Nada. Nothing. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. So I thought to myself, "Who could I turn to who understands this stuff? Oh, I KNOW! Sabrina! She's a Philosophy major and what she likes is the logic side of it." So I call her up sounding pathetic and she goes,"Philosophy 57? I love that class! That's the class that made me a Philosophy major." To make a long story short, she was oddly excited by the idea of staying up late and doing logic for no good reason. So she drives over, picks me up, and teaches me the book and the homework until 4:30am. It was insane. It was glorious. I can't pay her back.
PLUS, one of her roommates is moving out next quarter and she wants me to move in. And Mirrelees is exactly where I was trying to get into. And the disability resources office told me that it's possible to get into that specific room, I just have to pull a few strings.
Hence the strange combination of hope, stress, and bohemianism that is me right now. I'm about to write my film paper which'll just bring out that artsy feeling even more. Or homicidal tendencies if I can't get it together. We'll see which comes out...