Life: As it really is...

I could not get to sleep. Every fifteen minutes, I turned my head to look at that glowing red light from my clock. 5:24. So I turn, finding a more comfortable position, put my head in between the two pillows on my bed. I stare out the window of my room, this big wide window almost the size of the entire wall. And outside the curtain portal hangs the eternal rescients of the moon.

Beep. Beep. Beeeep! The alarm has been ringing for five minutes now. I am perfectly capable, and sufficiently awake, to rise and dim the day this morning. I do not, and instead lay under the sheets, just thinking thoughts... mostly to myself. I had that dream again, torn away from her, that girl that always haunts my dreams. She appears to me in different forms, but one things is always the same: Her eyes. They are slender and almond, with deep brown pupils, almost a solid color, and they are calm and angry at the same time, burning with an intensity that I see--each and every time I look in the mirror.

The Anima of my soul? Perhaps. But now is not the time for profundity. I stretch arms and stand up, get dressed, brush my teeth, slap on the ol' jock strap, eat breakfast, get my wallet. That damned alarm can fucking turn itself off. I get to the university, thinking only of the Programming project I was supposed to have completed by my first class this morning.

It seemed such a simple plan, I admit. Unsatisfied with a data structure that records data as one structure of students, followed by an array of quizzes, I decided to change things up a bit. I reversed the array structure and placed the entire data structure inside one compound structure, instead of having to normal ones. After all, what's life without getting hopelessly over your head the day before the deadline?

I finished the project 23 minutes before my class. To be honest, I had help from the professor, otherwise I would never have succeded. But also to be honest, at the moment the teacher had nothing to do with it. Only genius: my genius. That kind of thinking is crucial to prevent bruised egos, to nurture self-confidence and haughty arrogance, which is my own repenting, in away.

I am to write an essay, indeed: with the contents being the word that describes this city: Madness. I shall stand above the tide for as long as I can, holding on to my breath and my sanity. And then, I shall dive head first, becoming as mad as the rest of them. Maybe I am mad right now? Certainly, this sounds perfectly like the rantings of the criminally insane. But it is proof that I am not crazy when I am perfectly aware of just how crazy I sound.

I forgot my laptop in Dr. Mustain's office. The funny thing was, she found me as I stepped out of the elevator on the second floor, which was strange because I had stepped into the elevator first, had seen her on the fourth floor as the metal doors closed. Perhaps I was hallucinating.

Well, this rant is almost over, the tide turned down for another day. I am sitting in Japanese 1013, with a freind of mine talking about lines of code. Mediocre: as the word of today should rightly be.

Cookies and Silk

I hate you.


Seems like such a trivial phrase, I hate you. Nowadays, we as americans hate everything. That computer not working? I fucking hate that fucking computer!

Really, it's not worth getting worked up over. Just make sure that the people or things you hate are worth hating. That way, when you die an old saggy maid, you'll have the fortunate aspect of knowing they were not forgiven. Forgiveness may be overrated, but it's either you forgive your mother for squeezing you out of that blessed place and into this hell, or you die and nobodies forgiven. But if you're dead, then count your lucky stars.

And mistletoe is among us. *sigh*...