Tuesday, August 31, 2004
slave labour
i feel like one of the infinite number of monkeys typing away at an infinite number of typewriters for an infinite period trying to come up with a script for Hamlet.
Misha
at Tuesday, August 31, 2004
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more rambling
Typing has become a necessity, a form of expression, a means of identification. Good day equals fast, heavy, decisive strokes on the keyboard. Clack-clack-thwack. Bad day equals slow, resigned hits. Today is the slow, resigned day.
Professionally, the idea condition would be that you appreciate your superior and respect him/her and his/her judgment on certain things. You just do you bit of the work and let others be damned if they don't do theirs. In this case, I am working under management I do not trust with regard to the management of a team. Wannabe-Manager and actual-manager are two very different things. Hell, I want to be gorgeous and rich, but at least I know when to quit.
Speaking of which, when is the right time to quit, give up on your dreams, assuming you bothered having any. When you're twenty-one and getting nowhere? When you're thirty and four minutes from arriving at nowhere central station or when you're forty and a long-time resident of nowhere? I suppose it depends. What happens, though, when someone refuses to give up and lower expectations? Do you break your back falling into the gutter while eying those damn high expectations or do you eventually grind the cream you're trapped in to butter and climb out to meet those expectations eye to eye? Not very coherent, I know, but see I've lowered my expectations from my own babblings. From now on, I do not bother to make a conscious effort to be coherent. Misunderstand all you will, world, incoherence will stay as long as I want it to. The little joys of life are great viewed one at a time, but accumulated, they're just sad.
Misha
at Tuesday, August 31, 2004
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Monday, August 30, 2004
no bitchin' today, thank you!
Since the main purpose of this blog is to bitch about things and people who do not read it (which is pretty much everyone), I cannot really write about anything special today. Day's good, nice breeze, possible caffiene plan with friends. Just a regular day. Oh, except my PC is still bemaar and not really likely to come home anytime soon, but I can try today anyway. Let's hope my luck holds... Tune in tomorrow for more misery and bitching sessions. *lightbulb off*
Misha
at Monday, August 30, 2004
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Saturday, August 28, 2004
feverish babble
Math is fun. Math has a simple order. X has a value and so does Y. Apply a few simple equations and you can know what they are. Two entities defined in relation to another. Math is hell. With a few days of practice beforehand, you can sit in a class, bask in the warm praise of the instructor for finishing a problem first and be back to square one when the next item is strangely hard for you to grasp.
Let me tell you how I spent my math class. Linear Algebra and Differential Equations aka LADE/Laa-dee. Contains a great deal of super-annoying horseshit you'd never need to know unless you signed up for the torture that is Computer Science degrees. The first half of the class was spent solving problems with a flourish, modestly not calling attention to it till at least one other person has done the same. Sitting there smug in the self appointed self congratulatory titles. Queen of the fractions. Ruler of the slide rule. Master of multiples. Ass-kicker of inverse matrices. Bwahahaha. Yes, I rock. Breaktime.
Back in class. Late again. Sit. Thank you.
Stare at tiles on the floor. What a strange color for anyone to want as the floor of a university classroom. Peach squares divided in half. One vertically divided, one horizontally. Vertical, horizontal, vertical, horizontal. Gray bits of dirt in between. What a shame. What an interesting pattern they form when you look at them just right. All the same, really, but happy in their uniqueness because someone had the bright idea of rotating each alternating one 180 degrees from the previous one’s position. Stupid-ass tiles. Oops, problems have been solved on the board, must not lag. How the hell...
Twenty minutes later, still not caught up. Twenty more and headache cannot be borne anymore. Escape to bathroom. Wander aimlessly in the corridor. Return to class. Gaze at tiles till end of class. Damn math.
Misha
at Saturday, August 28, 2004
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khwaari
Days melt into nights of collapsing onto the bed, waking up in the morning to encounter backaches and then off to the university again. Lather, rinse, repeat. The sheer mindlessness of this schedule hurts, but a severely unenthusiastic CS-student's gotta do what a severely unenthusiastic CS-student's gotta do.
Once again, its a lovely, albeit chilly saturday with imkaanaat of rain, but I'm stuck in classes till two thirty and what short breaks I do receive are spent in a rush to the labs to spend some much needed time online since my poor PC's still a patient at the computer guy's.
People at Orkut have such lovely smiley faces, it's hard to tell how messed up they are. Little fragments of deception, these photos are. They say that at one slice of all the time they spent on earth, they were happy. Happy enough to make faces or smile at a camera, despite the possibility of a fake smile, but a smile nonetheless. I read somewhere that just smiling itself lifts your mood a bit.
Oh crap, I'm late for the class again. Miss punctuality who gives people the evil eye for waltzing in late for classes and appointments is late, heaving herself up two, maybe three stairs at a time and arriving panting at the doorway to meet the other evil eyes. Don't you just love saturday mornings?
Misha
at Saturday, August 28, 2004
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Thursday, August 26, 2004
gorigori
gorigorigorigorigorigorichorichorichorichorichorichorichori
gorigorigorigorigorigorikabhikabhikaheenkaheenchorichori
*running in my head thanks to nome.
Misha
at Thursday, August 26, 2004
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free and bored
The word 'bored' seems to figure incessantly in my vocabulary these days. Even if I have a million things to do, I sit around doing nothing and claim to be bored. Now isn't it fun to have a life that would function fine without your participation?
Misha
at Thursday, August 26, 2004
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Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Nothing remarkable happened today, which is a lie, but it's better to ignore the beginning of the day. I take great pride in my skills of denial. No really, this doesn't make my rear look like a truck. Honestly, there should be a course in SZABIST called 'The Theory and Application of Denial' and I should be the instructor. In case you haven't noticed yet, I ramble fairly well too, which has been the basis of my grades thus far. Rambling, procastination and denial, my crutches for living a [relatively] healthy and happy life.
After a 12 hour shirt at the uni like yesterday, and six hours of hourlies and cramming, that's all the sense anyone can get out of me.
Parting thought: Money can't buy me love, but it can buy me the most remarkable substitutes.
Misha
at Wednesday, August 25, 2004
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Tuesday, August 24, 2004
gruesome
Saw a cat dead on the road on the way over here. Made me sick to imagine what was going to happen to the poor thing's carcass during the day. I guess that sort of indignity after death is what convinces me more than the fanatic's argument that there must be an afterlife. There has to be, period. I'll just kill myself if there isn't.
Misha
at Tuesday, August 24, 2004
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Monday, August 23, 2004
vent
Assuming your pain is greater than anyone else's by default, assuming that nobody else could understand your superior pain or suffering, looking down upon anyone else that doesn't 'get' your particular brand of pain is snobbery in itself, not to mention unfair. I say this because I have checked myself often this past week looking down upon 'the happy ones', i.e. the ones with a normal, relatively happy life, at least in my eyes. I look at them, not just with disdain, although I am guilty of that, and not just a feeling of some warped superiority, as if my own misery serves as a crucible through which I emerge better than another, although that's been there too, I am ashamed to say. Most of all, though, I look at them with a mixture of jealousy and regret. Jealousy, it's obvious, because I can never be like them. Regret because I almost was. It was all so close, this life of sensations, not thoughts, that I could have, had I realized what was to come, reached out and grabbed it and bottled it up in a jar and hidden it away in some lonely cupboard, never to let it go. As it is, I ended up doing that anyway, but now only to take it out of that lonely cupboard to stare wistfully at, them put back away. It can never be mine.
Perhaps, in the first grade, I had a chance, I could have been among them. One of the happy faces I see on Orkut everyday that seem so familiar, but a lifetime apart from me. By second grade, the proverbial deal was sealed. I was to be an outsider for always, as resolutely as if it was branded on my forehead. There was no going back.
But then I stray from my original point. But then who cares?
Misha
at Monday, August 23, 2004
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Saturday, August 21, 2004
I hate saturday mornings. No, wait, I hate mornings period.
Misha
at Saturday, August 21, 2004
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Friday, August 20, 2004
&%$#@$ energy drinks
Never have Blue Ox. Especially if you're not used to artificial simulation. Am alternatively high and laughing my head off with group members (also among the samplees of Blue Ox) and sleepy. Never again. Can barely spell right right now.
A conversation with me on Blue Ox:
me says:
like one of those excercise roaps
friend says:
lol
me says:
ropes
friend says:
hahahaha.... good goin woman.... roaps
me says:
yeah
me says:
you see what im reuced to
friend says:
yes i see what ure REUCED to
Misha
at Friday, August 20, 2004
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Thursday, August 19, 2004
the blues
There's nothing like sitting in a class you don't belong in to make you feel like a ghost. A moment in the middle when all activity was going on around me while I was sadly duped into taking a seat in the back row made me actually start to miss these guys before they've gone and graduated. Minutes like these when I'm laughing my head off are running out on me and it's like I've lost them all already. Before I know it, they'll all be off to the real world, job-hunting or getting married or further studies and I'll still be here rotting amonst the unfamliar.
Misha
at Thursday, August 19, 2004
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Tuesday, August 17, 2004
hsdhdrty
Bus yunhi chaltay rahain
Din Yunhi kat tay rahain
Misha
at Tuesday, August 17, 2004
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friggin sarr strikes back
I want to get up and run around. I want to jump off a cliff. I want to throw glasses at people. I want to sit here till I can't anymore. I want to kick something. I want to headbang my goddamn brains out. I want to call up everyone I know at four a.m. I want to run and not stop. I want to bury my head in the sand. I want to dig up all the trees and save people the trouble. I want to do everything anyone has ever wanted me to do so they leave me alone. I want to call them back when they're all leaving.
I hate this.
Misha
at Tuesday, August 17, 2004
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Monday, August 16, 2004
of concerts and skinned elbows
Here I am, pressing my ear up against the peavey four foot speaker so I will have a headache. Maybe then I can say I feel something at a concert. There's a mild high but I can get that just walking around in the morning. Bah, I'm an old woman in a sort of pudgy 21-year old body.
Misha
at Monday, August 16, 2004
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Tuesday, August 10, 2004
are you still here?
Misha
at Tuesday, August 10, 2004
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Monday, August 09, 2004
and yet we slog on...
I detest being the politician. A half wave here and an in sincere smile there... here a smile, there a wave, everywhere a smile-wave.
Misha
at Monday, August 09, 2004
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wtf?
Who am I kidding? I can't write for peanuts! To be able to write half decent stuff you need to have a modicum of talent, at least one interesting idea and a way with words. Three strikes.
I'm out.
Misha
at Monday, August 09, 2004
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