14 December 2009
Today, during the commute back from classes, I decided to give nicknames to everyone in my metro car. Red-hat-society-pole-hogging-woman, douchebag1, douchebag2, douchebag3 & douchebag3's friend, dungeons&dragons, Mr. Junkie, Mousey brunette, Are-you-talkin'-to-me, and coughy McCough.
They're not the best nicknames, but they will do, pig. They will do.
Other key points of today:
In an attempt to clear out my pantry by the end of the week, I ate a package of raisins & coconut flakes, half my 250 g jar of Nutella, and finished off my French corn flakes (which gave the roof of my upper mouth quite a tear. I hate it when that happens.)
I clocked out last night around 9:40 pm, by far the earliest I have ever slept here, and as a consequence, woke up at 6:45 am. How about that? I took an 8 page written final today that was pretty much a hopeless cause, and have another final tomorrow morning at 9 am...
As well as lazy roommates whose hands my security deposit is in because they need to clean the damn apartment before the director gets here tomorrow, and I have class all day.
Edit: A raging bleach headache, dirty hands with a soaked band-aid, dust from vacuuming and sweeping, and a runny nose later, the apartment is clean. Cleaning is so futile. Job (the Biblical one, I mean) should have included cleaning in his rants about the futility of life: CLEANING. Why, I ask myself, should I be the only one to clean this poop-stained toilet boil for the third time? Why, should I scrub down this mold-encrusted tile grout? Why, should I bleach and scrub this kitchen table with wine stains which I did not make? WHY, SHOULD I CLEAN UP AFTER PEOPLE WHO WILL JUST MAKE EVERYTHING DIRTY AND DO NOTHING BUT SIT ON THEIR BUTTS AND WATCH SOME TV SHOW WITH THEIR BOYFRIEND WHO IS STAYING FOR FREE FOR THE LAST TWO WEEKS THAT I GET TO BE HERE AND IS THE CAUSE OF MOST OF THE DIRTINESS ANYWAY?! I don't know, Job. You tell me. I guess that's what Jesus does for us, everyday. Clean up our mess, and He does it freely.
sigh.
In other news, I really like French pears. They're called "conference." I wonder why? They don't look very business-like. Perhaps you'd be able to eat them easily at business conferences. Perhaps they are the topic of good conversation. Perhaps I should stop writing about pears now and start studying. Perhaps.
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