Spent all day yesterday at the university studying. It was stressful and it felt extremely futile; memorizing charts and lists of seemingly meaningless verb conjugations, case endings, and vocabulary is tedius when condensed into such a small amount of time.
The exam itself wasn't too bad. I definitely passed it, although the translation at the end didn't make any sense to me. I know there were some Romans, several verbs in the pluperfect tense, and a whole pile of conjunctive terms I didn't know.
After the exam, mei amici and myself headed to the campus pub to attempt drink off our Latin blues. It was a success. I drank enough beer to kill... a baby, or perhaps a small child. Where has my tolerance gone? I can handle my hard liquor just fine, but this novel idea of "drinking beer" (apparently some of you have heard of it?) is taking me for a wild spin. We drove downtown in Christina's Jeep listening to the worst music imaginable. Top forty hits from the late nineties- yeah, that's right, baby.
Went to Swans. Drank more. The waitress was sweet, and gave us free drinks for knowing that the university owned Swans. This was about the point where I realized that any night that begins with me drinking on an empty stomach results in bad times, no matter how well they are disguised as "good times" at the beginning of the evening. Headed to the karaoke bar at some point.
Wednesday nights are always such a gong show in Victoria.
Between the bar and my bed, I managed to find myself in some dive of an all-night diner with my head on the table, seeing double. Outside in the parking lot against a cement divider, vomiting between the front of our vehicle and what I can only assume was Bay Street. [It looked vaguely familiar.] My knees cold on the ground, my checkerboard legwarmers absorbing fallen rain. Trying to stay conscious on the drive home.
I woke up this morning half-clothed, sprawled out on top of my covers, and I'm pretty sure that the first thing I thought was "I'm never drinking again..."
But of course, we all know that's a lie.
The next few days are going to be busy and complicated. Comox awaits on Sunday. I'm looking forward to going home this year, despite being broke as a button and holiday cheerless to boot.
why do i still see you in every mirrored window,
in all that i could never overcome?
how i don't know what i should do with my hands when i talk to you
how you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands
I kept thinking that it would be extraordinary if the bus I was riding in crashed on the way home from downtown earlier today. Whenever this thought crossed my mind, something would happen- the bus would swing out abruptly to avoid a car, or slam on the brakes so as to not get sideswiped, or lurch suddenly to one side. Of course, I began wondering about my potential telekinetic powers...
The exam itself wasn't too bad. I definitely passed it, although the translation at the end didn't make any sense to me. I know there were some Romans, several verbs in the pluperfect tense, and a whole pile of conjunctive terms I didn't know.
After the exam, mei amici and myself headed to the campus pub to attempt drink off our Latin blues. It was a success. I drank enough beer to kill... a baby, or perhaps a small child. Where has my tolerance gone? I can handle my hard liquor just fine, but this novel idea of "drinking beer" (apparently some of you have heard of it?) is taking me for a wild spin. We drove downtown in Christina's Jeep listening to the worst music imaginable. Top forty hits from the late nineties- yeah, that's right, baby.
Went to Swans. Drank more. The waitress was sweet, and gave us free drinks for knowing that the university owned Swans. This was about the point where I realized that any night that begins with me drinking on an empty stomach results in bad times, no matter how well they are disguised as "good times" at the beginning of the evening. Headed to the karaoke bar at some point.
Wednesday nights are always such a gong show in Victoria.
Between the bar and my bed, I managed to find myself in some dive of an all-night diner with my head on the table, seeing double. Outside in the parking lot against a cement divider, vomiting between the front of our vehicle and what I can only assume was Bay Street. [It looked vaguely familiar.] My knees cold on the ground, my checkerboard legwarmers absorbing fallen rain. Trying to stay conscious on the drive home.
I woke up this morning half-clothed, sprawled out on top of my covers, and I'm pretty sure that the first thing I thought was "I'm never drinking again..."
But of course, we all know that's a lie.
The next few days are going to be busy and complicated. Comox awaits on Sunday. I'm looking forward to going home this year, despite being broke as a button and holiday cheerless to boot.
why do i still see you in every mirrored window,
in all that i could never overcome?
how i don't know what i should do with my hands when i talk to you
how you don't know where you should look, so you look at my hands
I kept thinking that it would be extraordinary if the bus I was riding in crashed on the way home from downtown earlier today. Whenever this thought crossed my mind, something would happen- the bus would swing out abruptly to avoid a car, or slam on the brakes so as to not get sideswiped, or lurch suddenly to one side. Of course, I began wondering about my potential telekinetic powers...
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you are pixels
[Edited on Dec 19, 2004 1:46AM]