I will never, ever name my child Eve. I hate having school occupy your consciousness so thoroughly that you start seeing the world as in "a Fallen state" -- this is nothing against people named Eve or Christians, but I can't believe anyone, in any century, thought that the question of which RIB Eve was made from deserved as much stuff written on it as it has! And to think that I once considered grad school. Between the pickets keeping me from my oh-so-important classes *hack hack* and the master's theses they pull from thin air, academia is going to be the death of me. Let's face it, the stuff that I write now is no more accessible (or relevant) than the stuff I was learning in physics, and at least back then people thought that I was smart. I mulled over this and came up with a concept for a play about a star athlete who fully expects his/her career to end with injury, and does; the rest of the play involves the breakdown of social optimism (of the "you can be anything you want to be" variety) of everyone else, and why knowing futility makes nothing easier. It may sound like a silly concept, but considering I can paraphrase Romeo and Juliet as "two hormonal teenagers kill themselves because of broken homes", I think it might have merit.
I went to a girls-only dinner with my ex-floormates (Hamber 2nd, 2001-2002!) last night -- excellent chocolate pecan pie. The conversation seemed stiff, though; despite living together for a year or more, there's no social crazy-glue that gurantees that the same open-door, bed-flopping policy will last longer than that. I want to be able to say hello to four people on my way back from class, but these days I'll be happy if I can hold a decent conversation with my roommates while co-navigating a 4-by-4 kitchen space; the horrid kitchen helps with the against-a-common-foe mentality, but it's not the same. Of course it's not the same, I'm eating plain yoghurt at 10:30 PM on a Monday night. If I was back in junior residence, it'd be a Starbucks frappuchino. If only. My anti-social fate was sealed when I rejected the bio-science way of life.
I went to a girls-only dinner with my ex-floormates (Hamber 2nd, 2001-2002!) last night -- excellent chocolate pecan pie. The conversation seemed stiff, though; despite living together for a year or more, there's no social crazy-glue that gurantees that the same open-door, bed-flopping policy will last longer than that. I want to be able to say hello to four people on my way back from class, but these days I'll be happy if I can hold a decent conversation with my roommates while co-navigating a 4-by-4 kitchen space; the horrid kitchen helps with the against-a-common-foe mentality, but it's not the same. Of course it's not the same, I'm eating plain yoghurt at 10:30 PM on a Monday night. If I was back in junior residence, it'd be a Starbucks frappuchino. If only. My anti-social fate was sealed when I rejected the bio-science way of life.
