Trading Cards.
I don't much fancy the idea of doing work at present, having only just left the theater wherein I viewed A Draughtsman's Contract, by Peter Greenaway.
I rarely ever find the idea of studying appealing these past weeks, and so instead return to that archaic activity of blogging. Or rather writing being the pasttime of old, but here is an ethereal electronic audience. I commence.
In class today a gentleman did confess to me that he spends usually six hours a day in journaling. Writing. . . really. . .nothing. (he added, saying
sometimes it really bores him but he still does it.)
Last week in class I had set my things, including my ID down on the desk and he took my idea jokingly. When I pestered him to get it back, he instead gave me his and said we should switch. Today, we did. Two days without my id was actually a kind of scary prospect, I need it to get into places and buy food and a host of other things. The cards are well coded so he doesn't have access to the same things I do. It was also scary because of the delight he took in joking about buying a thousand things with the card or wreaking havoc on whatever.
I chose to buy not only my lunch (which I had actually packed this morning and didn't need to purchase) but lunch for a friend. I ended up seeing him at a film screening and we opted to switch back (he might leave early for spring break and I would be ID-less for well over a week. ) He remarked of the experience that it was a bit scary to use someone else's idea to pay for dinner for himself and 10 friends with a card with someone else's face on it. I decided to now log on to my meal account and see how much he had spent. I was thinking that I was perhaps foolish to have given him my card, because I can't actually just throw away loads of money for food. He had spent the price of one modest meal. Entirely reasonable.
I, yes me, I was the one who had jumped at the chance to spend slightly more than I normally would/perhaps should have, although I kept it low with the thought I might need to make retributions.
An interesting study into my own psyche.
I rarely ever find the idea of studying appealing these past weeks, and so instead return to that archaic activity of blogging. Or rather writing being the pasttime of old, but here is an ethereal electronic audience. I commence.
In class today a gentleman did confess to me that he spends usually six hours a day in journaling. Writing. . . really. . .nothing. (he added, saying
sometimes it really bores him but he still does it.)
Last week in class I had set my things, including my ID down on the desk and he took my idea jokingly. When I pestered him to get it back, he instead gave me his and said we should switch. Today, we did. Two days without my id was actually a kind of scary prospect, I need it to get into places and buy food and a host of other things. The cards are well coded so he doesn't have access to the same things I do. It was also scary because of the delight he took in joking about buying a thousand things with the card or wreaking havoc on whatever.
I chose to buy not only my lunch (which I had actually packed this morning and didn't need to purchase) but lunch for a friend. I ended up seeing him at a film screening and we opted to switch back (he might leave early for spring break and I would be ID-less for well over a week. ) He remarked of the experience that it was a bit scary to use someone else's idea to pay for dinner for himself and 10 friends with a card with someone else's face on it. I decided to now log on to my meal account and see how much he had spent. I was thinking that I was perhaps foolish to have given him my card, because I can't actually just throw away loads of money for food. He had spent the price of one modest meal. Entirely reasonable.
I, yes me, I was the one who had jumped at the chance to spend slightly more than I normally would/perhaps should have, although I kept it low with the thought I might need to make retributions.
An interesting study into my own psyche.