i have jerry-rigged the router in the hallway so that i might get some signal to my computer for internet. the walls in this place must be built out of steel as not a single bar makes it down the expanse of hall. maybe because it must go through the kitchen, bathroom, closet, and closet (mine). i am not complaining. but stephanie disapproves of the wiring job, i think. i think maybe she expects me to do a better job hiding the wires as that is what i get paid to do at work sometimes. most of the time.
my boss called me in a panic this morning. he had me on the calender to work freshmen orientation blurbs this morning, but he never relayed this fact to me. i told him i'd make it up to him by cleaning lights this afternoon.
i think that it is a sign to move on when my boss assumes i'm working, doesn't actually tell me i am, and somehow has me convinced that i have to make it up to him when it turns out that i didn't.
it seems that all my thoughts don't stick around in my brain long enough to transport them to this nice and overly white screen. or maybe i can't keep my thoughts in my head long enough because i am feeling a sort of sensory overload.
that is a crock of shit and i know it. it's because i'm either too lazy or not sober enough to develop my thoughts or i am doing something else, like writing the twenty essays my writing teacher makes us do over the course of six weeks.
i recently wrote a personal statement for medical school. because that's the writing i'm taking: writing, for health professions. i have her fooled. she told me to go to my first choice medical schools and research what it is they want in an applicant. like they vary. i think we all know what it is they want in an applicant (high gpa and high mcat scores) and anything else is just pure ... getting into the right pile.
i told my neighbors, who are so past all this shit that they just smile at me and think to themselves, "im so glad i'm done with undergrad", that i had to do this. i told them, in a drunken slur, that the whole world wants me to be a doctor. they laughed. they said the whole world wants them to be a doctor, too.
fuck you. you're in a doctoral program.
my boss called me in a panic this morning. he had me on the calender to work freshmen orientation blurbs this morning, but he never relayed this fact to me. i told him i'd make it up to him by cleaning lights this afternoon.
i think that it is a sign to move on when my boss assumes i'm working, doesn't actually tell me i am, and somehow has me convinced that i have to make it up to him when it turns out that i didn't.
it seems that all my thoughts don't stick around in my brain long enough to transport them to this nice and overly white screen. or maybe i can't keep my thoughts in my head long enough because i am feeling a sort of sensory overload.
that is a crock of shit and i know it. it's because i'm either too lazy or not sober enough to develop my thoughts or i am doing something else, like writing the twenty essays my writing teacher makes us do over the course of six weeks.
i recently wrote a personal statement for medical school. because that's the writing i'm taking: writing, for health professions. i have her fooled. she told me to go to my first choice medical schools and research what it is they want in an applicant. like they vary. i think we all know what it is they want in an applicant (high gpa and high mcat scores) and anything else is just pure ... getting into the right pile.
i told my neighbors, who are so past all this shit that they just smile at me and think to themselves, "im so glad i'm done with undergrad", that i had to do this. i told them, in a drunken slur, that the whole world wants me to be a doctor. they laughed. they said the whole world wants them to be a doctor, too.
fuck you. you're in a doctoral program.
posted by The Smart Pineapple at 13:49
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