Talking Soup

This is the week from the deepest reaches of hell. Four major papers due, three of them within the next few days, not to mention response-type papers sprinkled in there just for kicks. This one essay has bee absolutely fighting me for the past week. Usually essays are a breeze for me, but every once in awhile one like this will come along. It doesn't matter how motivated I am or how much research I've done or whether the topic is interesting--it just doesn't want to get written, and the end product is essentially a bunch of words vomited onto a sheet of paper. I went to bed at 6 in the morning last night, and I don't expect to get more than 7 hours between now and Friday.

I also don't have a job yet, and I really don't have time this week to even call the one place I've turned in an application to, never mind fill out the forty-fucking-minute applications for Borders and Barnes and Noble. Never mind that, unlike past years, I need a job in order to survive. Welcome to the world, right?

On top of it all, a kid is dead.

I didn't know him at all, but he was a Writing major, a freshman, and he was found on campus in the same pond that we released a goldfish into three years ago. Maybe it's because this is the first time a student has died on campus since I started coming here and he was found maybe 200 yards from the apartment, or maybe it's because we've been calling it Buster's Pond because of that stupid goldfish, but this just makes everything else seem so ridiculous and unimportant and weird. I just want to go walk in the woods and clear my head but I can't even do that. And to think, they've been searching for him all over for the past two days, with helicopters even, and all that time he was just waiting in that pond.

I feel stupid for caring so much and stupid for just wanting to work on my papers and stupid for acting like it means something that it was Buster's Pond. And I feel stupid for putting all of this here because I don't have time to actually talk to someone.

I'm starting to hate this campus. I don't even feel safe here anymore.

At least I'm getting a kitty on Friday.

LET THE JOYOUS NEWS BE SPREAD, THE WICKED OLD WITCH AT LAST IS DEAD!!!

Ding-dong, the witch is dead
Which old witch?
The wicked witch!
Ding-dong the wicked witch is dead!!!

That's right, boys and girls, Jerry Falwell, enemy of humanity, is dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead!

I would try to be polite and civil about it, but really, it would be dishonest. And I shan't be dishonest with you here.

So...

HOORRAAAYYYYYY!!!

Will this change anything? Not likely. Still, it's one more person gone who would happily put just about everyone I know into concentration camps. The world could use a few less of his kind.

Woot!

P.S. Julie, guess what! I used faulty parallelism in the title!! We is nerds!