Another collected writing: originally composed on 3/16/2007.

I roll out of bed around ten, go downstairs to check my school email and see if I can get out of one midterm exam today, as I have the same professor for two classes, and exams, one after another. The deal is done – no humanities midterm until next week. What a nice guy. I come to terms with having to face my philosophy exam alone. Although I did study at school until 10:00pm, I always feel like I miss the more important pieces to the puzzle. It’s a situation I’ve felt before – like I have a grasp of things, but could use a tighter grip. Not exactly firing on all cilenders, I go back upstairs, relieve the so-called piss-boner, apply the facial cream like only Patrick Bateman can, rinse my razor and bask in the steam of the faucet, in an effort to open my pours before taking a hot disposable triple-blade to ’em. I crank some Lit, after which I apply the shaving cream, shave – with and against the grain, until I look like a prettier version of Spiderman’s Carnage – pull street clothes, including my “You Looked Better On MySpace” t-shirt, if only for the sake of it being green and today being St. Pat’s Day weekend – out of the closet, dig through the clean laundry to find just the right combination of undergarments, and jet into the bathroom to shower, brush my teeth, wash my face, apply deodorant and aftershave – to which I owe the subsequent burning senstation – and throw some gel in my hair. I’m gone. If only the process itself was as quick and simple as typing it is.

I hitch a ride to school, with some last minute glances at my notes, and in minutes I’m in class, hussling to finish a test that, by all my calculations went well, but could have gone much better, had I had fifteen more minutes test taking time, and three hours more study time. The professor is horridly sick, which in turn shakes me, as I’m just getting over a cold that threw me for a loop. I hand in that midterm-shit, with a keen “not finished” scrawled accross the top, via the instruction of the professor. I hobble downstairs to the computer lab and update this journal, relieving some anxiety and using up any post-test “academic adrenaline” I worked up in the process. I consider getting the f*ck out of there, as what was a nice spring day only hours ago, has since turned into a blizzard-like phenom. New England weather – wait five minutes right? I bomb around to see if I can find any friends still there, up for car-pool tomfoolery. No luck (of the Irish). I putz around on the ‘net some more, peeping out Kevin Smith’s blog, as it relaxes me. Minutes from this, one of the janitors comes in the lab and says school is closing. I call for a ride and jet home, driving past five car accidents on the way. F*ck this climate.