Running, running, running *tired*
I have been running all over hell and back ALL DAY LONG. And in some instances, that is not an exaggeration. There was actual running involved, not just running of the "walking very quickly because I have to be somewhere" variety. For those not in the know, which is 99.9% of the people I chat with on here every day, I am not a fan of running. I do not run. It causes sweating, which I am even less a fan of than the running because I am one of those unfortunate individuals to whom every form of moisture in the air seems to cling.
The reason for the running is quite simple: blind panic. I'm not joking, deadlines do that to me like nothing else. My heart races, I can't focus, my eyes go all blurry, and if it gets too bad my head starts to spin. It's a very unfair and repulsively cliché feminine quality, the fainting, so I try to always avoid it. Have been successful thus far--I've only passed out when I was sober once in my life. What? We were kids and we were bored.--but I thought I might actually do it this time.
Imagine me, 20 minutes until I have to be in class with my paper printed and stapled and ready, so I go to the library to print off the file saved in my flash drive. I have just enough time to log onto the computer, pull up the file, print it, and get to class at 1:30 before the asshole instructor starts talking. He gets irritated if you show up after that and as I said, he's an asshole. So I put the flash drive in the computer and I go to pull up the document but GUESS WHAT ISN'T THERE. The computer didn't save the file to the flash drive like I told it to. So now I'm running across two parking lots and a street to get back to the dorms where I live on the 4th floor. I get to my room, make sure it's saved on the flash drive this time, and I'm running again, back across two parking lots and a street, into the library and FINALLY I get the fucker printed, staple it, and fuck it, I'm already going to be late, so I stop running. He can be pissed, I had a legitimate reason.
Unlike some dude I met on the elevator after class was over who tells me he "accidentally" gave the instructor the wrong paper. He gave him his rough draft and he wanted to know if I thought he would accept it late if he emailed the actual paper to him. As the instructor is *ahem* not a terribly nice person and I'm pretty sure elevator guy was full of shit and gave him his rough draft with the idea in mind that he could say later that he had mistakenly given him the wrong draft, therefore buying himself that little extra time to actually do his paper... no.
Am I the only person in the world who doesn't know what the fuck a rough draft is for other than to waste my time? I don't do rough drafts. I also don't do rewrites. I do outline, paper, editing and that is all. I do the outline by hand on notebook paper, I type the paper itself, then I read through it and add, subtract or change things as needed, and I find the entire process of rough drafts and rewriting to be completely pointless. I guess I don't have to say that I don't have much sympathy for elevator guy.
You know, though, I may not like the running per se, but I really love the relaxed feeling I get after doing it. I mean it. It's like being pleasantly buzzed, high risk of headache later, but low risk of vomiting.
Finished watching The Secret Diary of a Call Girl earlier tonight and I liked it a lot, but I was very disappointed by the ending. Not that I think Belle should have stayed with Ben, given up her life and had 2.5 kids, a dog and a mini van, but I didn't like that it just ends and you don't know what the hell any of it's about. Ironically, the essay I turned in today was on Kurt Vonnegut's writing and the meaning behind it, what he was trying to say etc. He did a lot of shit that ended just like that, giving it to you without expressing any real purpose in the work. A strange parallel to draw, I guess, but eh, that's my mind. I also didn't like the other weirdo guy they had her messing with at the end of that show, and honestly I don't get why he was even there that late into it. I'm thinking some kind of representation of the seduction of her life as a call girl vs. Ben as the chance at a "normal" life with a guy who loves her. Either way, all of that story, which was fun and enjoyable, with an ending like that left me feeling disappointed.
However, I think I may throw my hat in the fandom cliché ring once again and try my hand at a Doctor Who/Secret Diary of a Call Girl crossover. Something better, I hope, than the PWP stuff I have found to read, though. Ew. That makes me sad and disappointed, too. Wanting to read something that doesn't really exist so I have to write it. I think that's why the people who write do it a lot of the time. They want to read something and it just isn't to be had. It's not always as fun to be the writer, though. Sometimes I just want to read.
Bath and bed for me now, I'm beat. Downloading Vampire Diaries to watch since there was some sort of "meeting" going on in the lounge. I walked all the way to the grocery, got my stuff, walked all the way back, and I was sure I was going to be late for it, but I was just in time. I did the walk to and from in about 40 minutes and I was pleased with myself, but no, they're going to have a meeting at 8. Time and me, we are at odds today. Time is very upset with me for wasting him.
The reason for the running is quite simple: blind panic. I'm not joking, deadlines do that to me like nothing else. My heart races, I can't focus, my eyes go all blurry, and if it gets too bad my head starts to spin. It's a very unfair and repulsively cliché feminine quality, the fainting, so I try to always avoid it. Have been successful thus far--I've only passed out when I was sober once in my life. What? We were kids and we were bored.--but I thought I might actually do it this time.
Imagine me, 20 minutes until I have to be in class with my paper printed and stapled and ready, so I go to the library to print off the file saved in my flash drive. I have just enough time to log onto the computer, pull up the file, print it, and get to class at 1:30 before the asshole instructor starts talking. He gets irritated if you show up after that and as I said, he's an asshole. So I put the flash drive in the computer and I go to pull up the document but GUESS WHAT ISN'T THERE. The computer didn't save the file to the flash drive like I told it to. So now I'm running across two parking lots and a street to get back to the dorms where I live on the 4th floor. I get to my room, make sure it's saved on the flash drive this time, and I'm running again, back across two parking lots and a street, into the library and FINALLY I get the fucker printed, staple it, and fuck it, I'm already going to be late, so I stop running. He can be pissed, I had a legitimate reason.
Unlike some dude I met on the elevator after class was over who tells me he "accidentally" gave the instructor the wrong paper. He gave him his rough draft and he wanted to know if I thought he would accept it late if he emailed the actual paper to him. As the instructor is *ahem* not a terribly nice person and I'm pretty sure elevator guy was full of shit and gave him his rough draft with the idea in mind that he could say later that he had mistakenly given him the wrong draft, therefore buying himself that little extra time to actually do his paper... no.
Am I the only person in the world who doesn't know what the fuck a rough draft is for other than to waste my time? I don't do rough drafts. I also don't do rewrites. I do outline, paper, editing and that is all. I do the outline by hand on notebook paper, I type the paper itself, then I read through it and add, subtract or change things as needed, and I find the entire process of rough drafts and rewriting to be completely pointless. I guess I don't have to say that I don't have much sympathy for elevator guy.
You know, though, I may not like the running per se, but I really love the relaxed feeling I get after doing it. I mean it. It's like being pleasantly buzzed, high risk of headache later, but low risk of vomiting.
Finished watching The Secret Diary of a Call Girl earlier tonight and I liked it a lot, but I was very disappointed by the ending. Not that I think Belle should have stayed with Ben, given up her life and had 2.5 kids, a dog and a mini van, but I didn't like that it just ends and you don't know what the hell any of it's about. Ironically, the essay I turned in today was on Kurt Vonnegut's writing and the meaning behind it, what he was trying to say etc. He did a lot of shit that ended just like that, giving it to you without expressing any real purpose in the work. A strange parallel to draw, I guess, but eh, that's my mind. I also didn't like the other weirdo guy they had her messing with at the end of that show, and honestly I don't get why he was even there that late into it. I'm thinking some kind of representation of the seduction of her life as a call girl vs. Ben as the chance at a "normal" life with a guy who loves her. Either way, all of that story, which was fun and enjoyable, with an ending like that left me feeling disappointed.
However, I think I may throw my hat in the fandom cliché ring once again and try my hand at a Doctor Who/Secret Diary of a Call Girl crossover. Something better, I hope, than the PWP stuff I have found to read, though. Ew. That makes me sad and disappointed, too. Wanting to read something that doesn't really exist so I have to write it. I think that's why the people who write do it a lot of the time. They want to read something and it just isn't to be had. It's not always as fun to be the writer, though. Sometimes I just want to read.
Bath and bed for me now, I'm beat. Downloading Vampire Diaries to watch since there was some sort of "meeting" going on in the lounge. I walked all the way to the grocery, got my stuff, walked all the way back, and I was sure I was going to be late for it, but I was just in time. I did the walk to and from in about 40 minutes and I was pleased with myself, but no, they're going to have a meeting at 8. Time and me, we are at odds today. Time is very upset with me for wasting him.