Wrapping Up

Tuesday was a bad day. A really bad day. Wednesday wasn’t much better, or Thursday, for that matter, but neither turned out to be a Tuesday. Which is kind of sad, really, considering how magnificent Monday really was. Dickens said, “was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” I’m pretty sure he was talking about a Tuesday.

I’m sticking to the getting up at 6-ish thing (although I’ve noticed, it’s creeping closer and closer to 7), and walking. I was almost scared to say anything about it — anything I actually tend to talk about seems to end up on the “used to do” list. Five days. In a row, no less. Now, I say “in a row” with an entirely different inflection than the Clerks “in a row.” Just in case you’re wondering.

Tuesday, though. The day that started out with a sunrise and a broken light bulb ended in a smear of chocolate and utter self-loathing.

After waking up a little bit tired but thoroughly ready to conquer both the day and my Chesil Beach paper, I found myself in the middle of the Nose’s class, horrified by the realization that I really, really have no fucking clue what’s going on. Taking a lighter class load, 4 classes instead of 5, may very well have turned out to be a horrible decision. I could have taken five, or even four, if they weren’t these particular classes, I guess.

Irony, I think. I struggled and fought for the Gold Card, which would open up education classes (thereby allowing me some leeway in taking a mess of Lit classes at once) only to choose not to do it and, yes, ending up with a mess of Lit classes all at once.

And I say other people shoot themselves in the foot.

But Tuesday was either a wake-up call or a trumpet for the Armageddon. I’m not sure which, yet. It went from the Nose’s class, to an overabundance of margaritas with a fellow student at a lunch that was supposed to last an hour or two, max.

Now, I love me some frozen margaritas. I haven’t found a way to make them taste the same without the tequila, but I haven’t given up hope yet, but they’re just so yummy that I can’t resist having one when I eat Mexican. I’ll admit. I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking, mostly because I don’t do it that often, and I don’t drink to get drunk.

I’m all about the taste.

But Tuesday was another story. I was drunk-drunk. Granted, cheaply, but still drunk. I happen to think that people don’t become what they’re not when they’re drunk; they only reveal what they really are without inhibitions. It’s a belief I’ve held for a while.

And when applied to myself, it’s not so pretty. I wasn’t rude or ugly (thank goodness), but I realized what a mess I really am.

This blog entry is going no where like I wanted it to, so I’ll go ahead and wrap it up.

I’m unplugging. I’m not into good-bye speeches, really, I just don’t want people thinking I’m dead. I realize that sometimes it’s far more productive to buck up, shut up, and move on. I’m getting away from blogging and Facebook for a while, at least. I don’t know if, or when, I’ll be back. The timing is sort of strange, having just dragged the two J’s to Facebook kicking and screaming, in addition to Grace’s wonderful return, but something’s gotta give.

Thanks for the company. It’s been fun.