So obviously, I was in dire need of sleep
Oct. 22nd, 2002 05:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanWow. I haven't crashed like that in forever.
Haven't had the luxury.
Just laid down and passed right out, no preamble, so I'll never know if it was cyanide that killed that woman on Law & Order. I'm sure there'll be a rerun somewhere in my future. Did we all know Season One is now out on DVD? I have to find the new way to reap exponential monetary growth benefits just to keep up with the DVD boom alone.
Onto the point of all this:
I don't ask people favors. I don't like to impose, and I don't like it when other people think they deserve special treatment, so I tend to roll with fate's punches, which may well be honorable and silly, but there you have it.
Today, it officially got to the point where I couldn't not ask.
I got back to my dorm after Age of Dinosaurs overwhelmed and without enough time to do anything but stress some more about it. The realities of what taking off one fucking weekend had caught up to me, and making a list was all that kept me from going insane with stress. Except now, I had to look at a concrete list of reasons why I was truly and utterly fucked.
And then I had to go to Journalism and get my personality profile back.
Because I'm a cocky idiot, I didn't run last-second Spellcheck on my document before printing last week. That means, and I realized this on the walk home, that I'd misspelled 'kitsch' and that's fifteen points right there. Fan-fucking-tastic. More proofing errors and the profile being a bit on the short side later, I ended up with a whopping 60. So one week I buck the average by fourteen, the next I suck it by the same. There's a Michelob jingle about this.
Al makes jokes about if we need to scream, cry, or throw a tantrum to excuse ourselves during the break and go outside.
Well, there was crying today. I walked out almost as soon as he announced the break, found myself a blocked-view stretch of wall on the opposite end of the Weimer corridor, and I cried. Quiet, discreet tears, mostly sadness and despair and anxiety and stress bubbling to the surface. I haven't cried in forever - crying without provocation of pain or personal hurt has been even longer.
Unfortunately, break is only four minutes and I had to get back in there and write a two-and-a-half page news-feature story on alligators. Which I did, and remarkably well. The crying helped a little, and as always I was disgusted enough with myself afterward to really want to stick it to its source, so the piece itself was damn decent. Al walked by a couple of times as he always does, but he inquired about my personal welfare both times instead of the usual 'how's it going' and 'did you have any questions' and 'do you need me to look over anything.' He's great about that, putting himself out for us if we so much as breathed the word. I remembered this and pointedly did not snarl at him either time.
Tact and I? We might be forging alliances soon.
I was one of the few who worked until the very last second of lab tonight. When I walked up to hand in my paper, he took it and looked at me pointedly to say, "You know, if you need help with anything, come see me or just let me know." And that did it. I had known from the beginning of class that there was no way I could hunt down an expert (the Health Sciences Department is booked to the wazoo but no one in there seems confident in their abilities to comment on sleep deprivation anyway), much less write up a publish-worthy rough draft by Wednesday (because I'll be missing lab on Monday as my plane from NY doesn't get in to Miami until three, so you add the five and a half hours to get back up here and that's some fun math I don't really want to think about right now.)
So I said, "Yeah, actually, there was something" and stayed after class. I hated every second of telling him about my sob story of an experience, I hated asking for help and a minor (till Thursday) extension. Even though I have legitimately tried to get into contact with people and done the background research to where direct quotes were the only problem. It's just - it's not fair to ask when everyone else is working under the same gun, the same deadline, the same conditions. But there's (regrettably this week) only one of me, and that person is all but paralyzed with having so much to do.
He went so far above and beyond the call of duty that I could've almost cried all over again in his office. A list of sources and a grace period and this just *might* be the most intensely gracious thing anyone's done for me in memory.
The most obscenely generous and intensely happiness-inducing qualification goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pierydys though, no contest. I got her care package on Friday and still have not quite found a sufficiently grand gesture to thank her for it. Four video tapes and twenty-three CDs' worth of *NSYNC footage, for the better and worse on the part of the boys, and some lovely, lovely tea (for sleep *and* sniffles) which I've been chugging since its arrival. It's. I mean. Aieee! No.fucking.words to describe the joy factor. *mwah* Love and appreciation by the boatloads to her. And also, four days! Eeeee!
More squee!-worthy news - I got a 98 on my Journalism midterm. Oh yeah, baby. I get off a little just thinking about it.
walkingshadow and I had massive amounts of scary fun at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights 2002 this past Sunday. They held it at Islands (of Fear) for the first time, and seeing as how Miranda had never been on a *real* non-wooden rollercoaster (Space Mountain doesn't quite count), this was sure to be a grand time. And it was - she went from being apprehensive on The Hulk to dashing across the park to make it to Dueling Dragons before they closed it at 10:30 (for the record, we got there just in time to ride Fire and managed to slip in about fifteen minutes after closing as the last kids to get on Ice.) Ladies and gents, we've got a new junkie. There were Night of the Living Dead police officers patrolling Marvel island, gored scientists pleading with you to leave now on Jurassic Park, fog all through the darkened nightmare streets of Dr. Seuss island, and your requisite men with chainsaws at every turn (as I found out, Miranda is quite clever and deft when it comes to eluding the baddies.) Bill and Ted's Excellent Halloween Adventure was again a not-to-be-missed affair - how can you not love a show that has Eminem face off against an Elvis-impersonating Fat Bastard, the Powerpuff girls dressed down in matching skivvies, and Daphne of Scooby Doo fame snogging with the Green Goblin? A mean Pina Colada mix and some truly disturbing haunted houses later, we found ourselves in the Denny's on International Drive, and all I could think about was whether the boys had done the same at some past point, either together or separately, eating the mediocre food and just trying to make it long enough to get things going for themselves. There was Fabulous French Toast (which, in all actuality, if one is a Tic Tac and ten is an episode of Smallville, was about a two and a half on the Fabulous Meter) and moldy oldies with a little Celine Dion thrown in for indigestion.
So yes. Breathing free air again. Rarefied indeed.
Haven't had the luxury.
Just laid down and passed right out, no preamble, so I'll never know if it was cyanide that killed that woman on Law & Order. I'm sure there'll be a rerun somewhere in my future. Did we all know Season One is now out on DVD? I have to find the new way to reap exponential monetary growth benefits just to keep up with the DVD boom alone.
Onto the point of all this:
I don't ask people favors. I don't like to impose, and I don't like it when other people think they deserve special treatment, so I tend to roll with fate's punches, which may well be honorable and silly, but there you have it.
Today, it officially got to the point where I couldn't not ask.
I got back to my dorm after Age of Dinosaurs overwhelmed and without enough time to do anything but stress some more about it. The realities of what taking off one fucking weekend had caught up to me, and making a list was all that kept me from going insane with stress. Except now, I had to look at a concrete list of reasons why I was truly and utterly fucked.
And then I had to go to Journalism and get my personality profile back.
Because I'm a cocky idiot, I didn't run last-second Spellcheck on my document before printing last week. That means, and I realized this on the walk home, that I'd misspelled 'kitsch' and that's fifteen points right there. Fan-fucking-tastic. More proofing errors and the profile being a bit on the short side later, I ended up with a whopping 60. So one week I buck the average by fourteen, the next I suck it by the same. There's a Michelob jingle about this.
Al makes jokes about if we need to scream, cry, or throw a tantrum to excuse ourselves during the break and go outside.
Well, there was crying today. I walked out almost as soon as he announced the break, found myself a blocked-view stretch of wall on the opposite end of the Weimer corridor, and I cried. Quiet, discreet tears, mostly sadness and despair and anxiety and stress bubbling to the surface. I haven't cried in forever - crying without provocation of pain or personal hurt has been even longer.
Unfortunately, break is only four minutes and I had to get back in there and write a two-and-a-half page news-feature story on alligators. Which I did, and remarkably well. The crying helped a little, and as always I was disgusted enough with myself afterward to really want to stick it to its source, so the piece itself was damn decent. Al walked by a couple of times as he always does, but he inquired about my personal welfare both times instead of the usual 'how's it going' and 'did you have any questions' and 'do you need me to look over anything.' He's great about that, putting himself out for us if we so much as breathed the word. I remembered this and pointedly did not snarl at him either time.
Tact and I? We might be forging alliances soon.
I was one of the few who worked until the very last second of lab tonight. When I walked up to hand in my paper, he took it and looked at me pointedly to say, "You know, if you need help with anything, come see me or just let me know." And that did it. I had known from the beginning of class that there was no way I could hunt down an expert (the Health Sciences Department is booked to the wazoo but no one in there seems confident in their abilities to comment on sleep deprivation anyway), much less write up a publish-worthy rough draft by Wednesday (because I'll be missing lab on Monday as my plane from NY doesn't get in to Miami until three, so you add the five and a half hours to get back up here and that's some fun math I don't really want to think about right now.)
So I said, "Yeah, actually, there was something" and stayed after class. I hated every second of telling him about my sob story of an experience, I hated asking for help and a minor (till Thursday) extension. Even though I have legitimately tried to get into contact with people and done the background research to where direct quotes were the only problem. It's just - it's not fair to ask when everyone else is working under the same gun, the same deadline, the same conditions. But there's (regrettably this week) only one of me, and that person is all but paralyzed with having so much to do.
He went so far above and beyond the call of duty that I could've almost cried all over again in his office. A list of sources and a grace period and this just *might* be the most intensely gracious thing anyone's done for me in memory.
The most obscenely generous and intensely happiness-inducing qualification goes to
pierydys though, no contest. I got her care package on Friday and still have not quite found a sufficiently grand gesture to thank her for it. Four video tapes and twenty-three CDs' worth of *NSYNC footage, for the better and worse on the part of the boys, and some lovely, lovely tea (for sleep *and* sniffles) which I've been chugging since its arrival. It's. I mean. Aieee! No.fucking.words to describe the joy factor. *mwah* Love and appreciation by the boatloads to her. And also, four days! Eeeee!More squee!-worthy news - I got a 98 on my Journalism midterm. Oh yeah, baby. I get off a little just thinking about it.
walkingshadow and I had massive amounts of scary fun at Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights 2002 this past Sunday. They held it at Islands (of Fear) for the first time, and seeing as how Miranda had never been on a *real* non-wooden rollercoaster (Space Mountain doesn't quite count), this was sure to be a grand time. And it was - she went from being apprehensive on The Hulk to dashing across the park to make it to Dueling Dragons before they closed it at 10:30 (for the record, we got there just in time to ride Fire and managed to slip in about fifteen minutes after closing as the last kids to get on Ice.) Ladies and gents, we've got a new junkie. There were Night of the Living Dead police officers patrolling Marvel island, gored scientists pleading with you to leave now on Jurassic Park, fog all through the darkened nightmare streets of Dr. Seuss island, and your requisite men with chainsaws at every turn (as I found out, Miranda is quite clever and deft when it comes to eluding the baddies.) Bill and Ted's Excellent Halloween Adventure was again a not-to-be-missed affair - how can you not love a show that has Eminem face off against an Elvis-impersonating Fat Bastard, the Powerpuff girls dressed down in matching skivvies, and Daphne of Scooby Doo fame snogging with the Green Goblin? A mean Pina Colada mix and some truly disturbing haunted houses later, we found ourselves in the Denny's on International Drive, and all I could think about was whether the boys had done the same at some past point, either together or separately, eating the mediocre food and just trying to make it long enough to get things going for themselves. There was Fabulous French Toast (which, in all actuality, if one is a Tic Tac and ten is an episode of Smallville, was about a two and a half on the Fabulous Meter) and moldy oldies with a little Celine Dion thrown in for indigestion.So yes. Breathing free air again. Rarefied indeed.
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Date: October 22nd, 2002 08:12 am (UTC)It's like my body heaved a huge sigh of relief and just let go. It was blissful.
It's Tuesday night, Billy. And as such, I'll be shacked up with Miranda and whatever Nourishment of the Week we choose with which to enjoy a spankin' new episode of Smallville. We're gonna start coming as soon as rerun hell sets in but for now, that's where it's at for us.
The high for this weekend is supposed to be 58 degrees for New York, so I'll be well-bundled. Love will be sent, the city thoroughly explored and cherished and I cannot *wait.* I'll do right by it, promise.