This Entry is Almost Entirely About Snot, with Small Quantities of Poo.
Have you ever had so much snot in your face when you woke up that you could not open your EYES? Well, dear everyone, I fucking have, and let me tell you, exactly how much snot does one NEED in one's sinuses before YOUR EYES ARE PUSHED SHUT? A lot. I think it actually has to be filling your brain cavity.
Thus fair reader, for your amusement - imagine! Imagine a Mel, startled awake for her final day of her very first quarter of Art Schoo Evar, rolling out of bed only to discover - oh Christ - she can't SEE. Watch - as she stumbles on the brick floor of her bedroom, reaching to the nightstand to find the tissue that ISN'T THERE. Listen - as she chokes on the luminescent green phlegm that her body has been industriously producing all night long, obviously in hopes to kill her. Observe - as she hurtles to the restroom, clobbers into the doorjamb, and paicked-ly deposits AN ENTIRE CRANIUM'S WORTH of pure, unadulterated SNOT OOZE into some mildly surprised, certainly undeserving squares of Charmin Extra-strong bathroom tissue.
Thank GOD I bought that new diamond-weave stuff.
And I am not exaggerating ANY of this up.
On my way to class, as I was getting into my happy black roomate's car, I had to actually pause, hack, and deliver something green unto the ground from my throat. This means that A) the Thing is in my lungs already and B) I puked green snot into a driveway. What does this mean? That life sucks.
I never get sick. I've said that a few times this year, thus I am sick. It's actually the worst cold I've had in recent memory, and I know its only gotten this bad because it was Finals week and oh, I sorta failed to sleep. Seriously, guys, if you've ever been skeptical about the credibility of art school, either for yourself or your dissapointing, artsy children, allow me to assure EVERYONE that this quarter has matched the evilest quarter of my respectable non-art undergraduate education, if not superceeded it, yes, superceeded Honors Western Civ. Not only is it buttfuckign HARD, but when you produce crap, its not like a shitty paper where you hand it in, say "oh well" and go drinkin. its like you draw or write something meaningful to yourself and then tack it on a wall so people can SHIT ALL OVER IT. ON THE WALL. HORIZONTALLY-PROPELLED SHIT.
But! - the quarter is over, I'm a straight B student I think, my pride died, and next quarter looks more exciting WITH - digital cover illustration, watercolor for the illustrator, and speed sketching. Total. Dorkage.
Last night we got Sushi with a neat girl with pink hair, came home, drank beer, played Persona and Mario Galaxy, and went. The fuck. To bed.
Now I go to work.
Thus fair reader, for your amusement - imagine! Imagine a Mel, startled awake for her final day of her very first quarter of Art Schoo Evar, rolling out of bed only to discover - oh Christ - she can't SEE. Watch - as she stumbles on the brick floor of her bedroom, reaching to the nightstand to find the tissue that ISN'T THERE. Listen - as she chokes on the luminescent green phlegm that her body has been industriously producing all night long, obviously in hopes to kill her. Observe - as she hurtles to the restroom, clobbers into the doorjamb, and paicked-ly deposits AN ENTIRE CRANIUM'S WORTH of pure, unadulterated SNOT OOZE into some mildly surprised, certainly undeserving squares of Charmin Extra-strong bathroom tissue.
Thank GOD I bought that new diamond-weave stuff.
And I am not exaggerating ANY of this up.
On my way to class, as I was getting into my happy black roomate's car, I had to actually pause, hack, and deliver something green unto the ground from my throat. This means that A) the Thing is in my lungs already and B) I puked green snot into a driveway. What does this mean? That life sucks.
I never get sick. I've said that a few times this year, thus I am sick. It's actually the worst cold I've had in recent memory, and I know its only gotten this bad because it was Finals week and oh, I sorta failed to sleep. Seriously, guys, if you've ever been skeptical about the credibility of art school, either for yourself or your dissapointing, artsy children, allow me to assure EVERYONE that this quarter has matched the evilest quarter of my respectable non-art undergraduate education, if not superceeded it, yes, superceeded Honors Western Civ. Not only is it buttfuckign HARD, but when you produce crap, its not like a shitty paper where you hand it in, say "oh well" and go drinkin. its like you draw or write something meaningful to yourself and then tack it on a wall so people can SHIT ALL OVER IT. ON THE WALL. HORIZONTALLY-PROPELLED SHIT.
But! - the quarter is over, I'm a straight B student I think, my pride died, and next quarter looks more exciting WITH - digital cover illustration, watercolor for the illustrator, and speed sketching. Total. Dorkage.
Last night we got Sushi with a neat girl with pink hair, came home, drank beer, played Persona and Mario Galaxy, and went. The fuck. To bed.
Now I go to work.