A Tired Man With Only Hours to Go
It's the academic home stretch now, kiddies. More than that, I'll be in London, England in less than one month (assuming there are no terrorist/mechanical difficulties). Now I just have to get through the next three weeks, and a slew of papers and research. But, on the other hand, I have no finals. I'm not sure how to feel about that, now that I'm in (actual) graduate school. On the one hand, projects force me to show more of my individual strengths than do tests, and knowing myself, I'm more likely to work on them until I die. On the other hand, with tests I always have the chance to completely bullshit my through and make a high grade that I really don't deserve. Now I know teachers and professors out there will disagree with me, claiming that they can smell bullshit a mile away, etc., etc. Well, trust me, bullshitting professors is like my mutant power. I am Crap-Mouth, who's impenetrable prosaic style will confound and befog even the sharpest academic mind. Mwah-hah-hah! And no, I never did learn to use my powers for good, so don't ask!
On a more positive note, I've bought a bike, and am now trying to save the world through my decreased dependency upon gasoline. I used to mock bike-riders, saying to myself "save the world, hippie." Now I am one of those hippies, and I will save the world, dammit! Even if I break a sweat, even if my legs get all sore, even if I get hit by a truck! Wait, what? Oh, yeah, I got hit by a truck last week. I was biking down Lindsey Street, trying to cross Jenkins, and the light changed. A woman, we'll call her Julie, starts to turn left in her big-american-truck. Her big-american-truck collides with my small-american-bike. It crushes the front wheel, propelling me up onto the hood, then over onto the ground. I was carrying my computer. I wasn't wearing a helmet. Now, I'm sure you're thinking this story has an unhappy ending, and it does. Julie helped me to work, and I sat for a couple of hours talking to a professor, then went to the campus medical center. I was examined by a couple of medics, x-rayed (they had me wear special shorts!), and examined by a P.A. (I got to wear more shorts!), and told to take an over-the-counter pain reliever, we'll call it aleve. "Over-the-counter," I thought. "Maybe I didn't explain it properly: I GOT HIT BY A TRUCK! Gimme something habit-forming, for pity's sake!" No, no drugs were forthcoming, and "Julie" had no insurance, so the entire experience was a bust. Fortunately, though, I did not crack my head open on the pavement (and I now own/use a helmet), and my computer still works great. Some people would say I'm lucky. I'd say lucky people don't get hit by trucks or have ovens explode in their faces!
