obnoxious grade post & a real live entry
ENGL 204 Western Literary Masterworks: A
GOVT 412 Politics & Mass Media: A
HNRS 228 Altered Genes / Molecular Biotechnology: A
HNRS 230 Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Women in Islamic Literature): A-
HNRS 353 Technology in the Contemporary US (Environmental Science): A
Fuckin A (HAAAAHAHA), dude. That's a 3.94 this semester. Women in Islamic Literature holding me back from a 4.0. But, you know, still all the better for my chances at Oxford next year.
Good news aside, I'm presently stewing in summer's syrupy blend of lethargy and anxiety. Lynchburg seems like it's soaking in formaldehyde. It doesn't change, it doesn't age. I come back and I feel like I'm in high school again, with all the same trappings and all the same trivialities. Sure, most of my friends have left, and that leaves a big, conspicuous, gaping hole -- but the city hasn't progressed. We might have three colleges here, but it's a high school town with a high school mentality. I see these kids walking around wearing Glass t-shirts and haughty smirks and I want to tell them that their lives mean nothing right now, that out of the ten or so people they're with, they'll be talking to maybe one of them three years from now. But you don't say that kind of thing to people.
It looks like things with Ida have fallen through. We met with her Wednesday, to find out that a) she won't budge on the rent and b) she's not leaving for the summer, after all ("When am I leaving? Oh, if I do, I leave in December.") Why are all landlords worthless, lying, manipulative -- oh, I don't know -- pus-filled sacks of shit? I guess this has been happening forever, though. If you learn one thing from Western History, it's to never trust the landowners.
So Karl and I are back to square one, left dangling to the whims of DC's gentrification-fueled, preposterously high prices and the ceaseless search for the Holy Grail: a 3-month lease. A part of me -- the lazy part, the part that was the only part two, three years ago -- says, "Just stay in Lynchburg. Sure it's a time trap, but it's free. It's easy." And though I would really love to be here with Jeb and Bree and Weston, with the kids, I can already feel my pulse synchronizing with the slow, apathetic traffic endlessly driving up and down 501. And it's not a good feeling. In fact, it scares me to death. And though my healthy reserves of base-level, default anxiety are enough to make me nervous about living and working in Fairfax or DC, as well, I feel like I should still try to take the riskier choice and just move. That's what you're supposed to do, right? You're not supposed to live your life preemptively -- choosing what's familiar over what's new? In any case, I'll be in town a bit longer. I'd say at least until the first of June. So call me up.
GOVT 412 Politics & Mass Media: A
HNRS 228 Altered Genes / Molecular Biotechnology: A
HNRS 230 Cross-Cultural Perspectives (Women in Islamic Literature): A-
HNRS 353 Technology in the Contemporary US (Environmental Science): A
Fuckin A (HAAAAHAHA), dude. That's a 3.94 this semester. Women in Islamic Literature holding me back from a 4.0. But, you know, still all the better for my chances at Oxford next year.
Good news aside, I'm presently stewing in summer's syrupy blend of lethargy and anxiety. Lynchburg seems like it's soaking in formaldehyde. It doesn't change, it doesn't age. I come back and I feel like I'm in high school again, with all the same trappings and all the same trivialities. Sure, most of my friends have left, and that leaves a big, conspicuous, gaping hole -- but the city hasn't progressed. We might have three colleges here, but it's a high school town with a high school mentality. I see these kids walking around wearing Glass t-shirts and haughty smirks and I want to tell them that their lives mean nothing right now, that out of the ten or so people they're with, they'll be talking to maybe one of them three years from now. But you don't say that kind of thing to people.
It looks like things with Ida have fallen through. We met with her Wednesday, to find out that a) she won't budge on the rent and b) she's not leaving for the summer, after all ("When am I leaving? Oh, if I do, I leave in December.") Why are all landlords worthless, lying, manipulative -- oh, I don't know -- pus-filled sacks of shit? I guess this has been happening forever, though. If you learn one thing from Western History, it's to never trust the landowners.
So Karl and I are back to square one, left dangling to the whims of DC's gentrification-fueled, preposterously high prices and the ceaseless search for the Holy Grail: a 3-month lease. A part of me -- the lazy part, the part that was the only part two, three years ago -- says, "Just stay in Lynchburg. Sure it's a time trap, but it's free. It's easy." And though I would really love to be here with Jeb and Bree and Weston, with the kids, I can already feel my pulse synchronizing with the slow, apathetic traffic endlessly driving up and down 501. And it's not a good feeling. In fact, it scares me to death. And though my healthy reserves of base-level, default anxiety are enough to make me nervous about living and working in Fairfax or DC, as well, I feel like I should still try to take the riskier choice and just move. That's what you're supposed to do, right? You're not supposed to live your life preemptively -- choosing what's familiar over what's new? In any case, I'll be in town a bit longer. I'd say at least until the first of June. So call me up.