Scramble

Hmmm, 9 days into the new year, 2005 of all things. Fair enough it seems to toss in an inane update on the halfway point of the 2000's. Or maybe just the last few days.

School, boring as hell. Really. Famous professors are all fine and good, but why can't they get famous before becoming really old? Oh well, he's not that bad, really. Ran screaming from the comparative fairy tales class after finally attending my first discussion. As you may have surmised, it did not go well. Ended up picking a sociology class that sounds very econ as well. Acceptable, I guess.

Oh, I've got the cutest thing you've ever seen. Hang on and let me take a picture of it.

Ok, cannot be bothered to figure out how to post pictures, so whatever. In any case, things have been kind of lazy about these parts, no drama, no excitement, no nothing. I've been lazing and sleeping and watching loads of trashy television. Caught an entire season of the surreal life yesterday afternoon. Tells you a great deal about how occupied I am.

I really hate it when people you're having lunch or dinner or whatever with decide not to eat. Then I feel compelled to avoid food as well. Maybe I'm too polite, since she did insist that it was ok, but I just thought it very odd to eat while the other party sat there sipping coffee. Ugh, that turned out to be a hungry night.

My alcohol tolerance has fallen dramatically. I find myself experiencing a buzz after just a few drinks. I suppose that saves me a little cash, but could be a sign of a failing liver. Now, that would be sad, wouldn't it? Did muster up a good melancholy drunk last night though. Discovered that I could type almost effectively with my forehead leaning on the table. Quite remarkable, really, considering there is no system to my typing, using only two fingers on each hand to tap out words. If I were asked to tell you where a particular key is on the standard QWERTY keyboard, I would fail. Yet as I warm up, I can type. Curious the way the mind works, isn't it?

I hate it when I get drunk and start talking. Sometimes, when I am told what I said, or read what I type, I must wonder if alcohol breaks down some deep-rooted barriers in my psyche, or does it just fire up my imagination. I can honestly say I do not really recognise the fellow who is babbling about all sorts of strange things.

Alright, utterly pointless, just a scramble of random things, events, notes. Trying to avoid thinking these days. Completely failing, but no need to publicise that, eh?