The hours that I have been putting into school have meant that the original quantity of time that I put into previous activities has dwindled. Important things, like playing video games and watching TV and making fun of strangers in public situations [because, apparently, I’m an adolescent male] have been flung to the wayside like monkeys fling poo.
Okay, so I don’t really make fun of strangers.
OKAY, so I only do it on alternate Thursdays.
Among the other things that I don’t have time for anymore is normal social interaction on a regular basis. I’ve discovered, perhaps unsettlingly, that I have begun to compensate for this by talking to myself. [This might not be something that I should readily admit publicly, but I feel like if you all aren’t already judging me somewhat then you haven’t been paying attention and this might not faze you.]
So, I’m sitting here, reading my Calculus book like a good girl and I’m comprehending what’s going on. [This is a big deal.] Everything’s great, I’m jamming out to the dulcet tones of Yo-Yo Ma [because I can’t listen to music with words when I have to read something that requires real concentration], and then I turn the page and WHAT IN THE NAME OF SATAN’S UNDERWEAR IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE? That isn’t math, that’s forgotten language of the people of Atlantis. The book is telling me that, “Now, we’re going to blah blah blah,” and I whine at it.
I whine to my book out loud. The words, “But I don’t WANNA,” may have actually been uttered, which is disturbing in and of itself because it was said in seriousness. This was compounded, however, by the fact that I said it to no one except the inanimate object sitting in front of me [that I have affectionately nicknamed Stalin Baby]. Half a second later I’m like, “Whoa,” and push my chair back.
There are only two things that I can do at this point. One is to go take a nap, but as I can’t be certain I’d actually wake up in time to get what I need to get done today I can’t do that. The other is to make me some Jasmine Pearl and subject you all to a long story about how my sanity is slipping away while I try to replace all of the oxygen in my body with the scent of this tea.
I guess this wasn’t so much about the tea as it was about me unloading on you all, but the tea is really good. Easily the best Jasmine I’ve had, ever. If I reach for it when I’m in this kind of state, that should be saying something.
All right. Woo-sah. I’m off to tackle Stalin Baby. Wish me luck.