I dislike the world. Yes, precious, I dislikes it. Or should that be "we hates it"? I suppose that would be more accurate, both in syntax and in content. After all, Gollum was never a very happy camper (except for about five seconds when he had the ring and hadn't yet fallen into the Crack of Doom). Dislike wouldn't be a strong enough sentiment for him; he would need a bit more potent of an emotion there. Goes with his inner turmoil and all that. Now, where was I? Oh, quite. I dislike the world as much as Ayn Rand dislikes paragraph indentations. Everything, and I do mean everything, makes me feel wrathful and filled with rage and fury. Maybe I am actually the Hulk. Wouldn't that be embarrassing? All this time I thought I was a Dagny- and it turns out I'm a Bruce Banner instead! That's even worse than being Durko. I mean, at least Durko has manly sensitivity and is able to talk (although he mostly doesn't, being as stoic as a Russian peasant), and though you might not expect it from his muscular mien, he is quite well versed in Romantic music and poetry. I wouldn't be too surprised if he knew his way around an art gallery as well. Hulk, on the other hand, loses all of his scientific knowledge as soon as he transforms, and is permanently clothed in ripped purple panties. Not that I don't like purple panties, mind you, in fact I may or not be wearing some right now (I can't really remember; I put them on this morning, and that was a long time ago), but the fact stands that his wardrobe is sadly lacking in the haute couture necessary to the health and well-being of any sensible soul. But hopefully, I am not a Hulk and am just a very grouchy misanthrope. That's at least socially acceptable (unless you are Raskolnikov, but I feel that particular identity crisis is not mine to bear), and can be useful for when I go to law school and have to deal with a thousand S-hole duplicates every day. Really, though, I think I've become more and more choleric as the days go by. Everything annoys me now, even things that really shouldn't, and as time passes on, I feel more and more inclined to give up on the world and move to Siberia or something. I have become the worst kind of crank, and I don't see how I'm going to fix it. Should I even fix it? Maybe it will give me an edge up on all the Pollyannas in the world. Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses tends to stunt your perception, you know. But then again, it's not really pleasant to be annoyed all the time. I mean, I don't like it much to not like anything. So perhaps I should do something about my attitude. But that would take effort... Oh dear me, what a quandary I have put myself in!
We went to a singing today. It was very folksy. There were several people wandering around in dresses from about 1870, and one lady had a cup and a plate tied to a string around her neck. I'm not sure if she thought it was a fashion statement or if she merely wanted to be prepared anytime some victuals presented themselves, but it certainly did a good job of spicing up her outfit. There was exactly one Asian guy there (aside from us of course), and everyone else was white. I suppose that's the demographic that likes to do shape-note singing, but one would think that the institution would have become more nationalized by now. Still, I suppose it was all right, since I care only for the music in their hearts and not the color of their skin. (Was that a folksy enough statement there? Maybe I should lead a nouveau-hippie revolution) It really was fun to sing, though. Everything was very relaxed, and no one really went by any predetermined rules (which was evident not only in the burly man happily singing soprano next to me but also in the blatant refusal of the populace to follow the key signature), and everyone was so cheerful and friendly that it was really quite alarming. Apparently, there is quite a social network that goes on at these things. People have their special singing circle, and I guess they meet up at different singings throughout the country. There were people there from Oregon and New Mexico, and the like, and one exuberant woman even came here from London. I don't know what it is these people do, but they seem to have an awful lot of time on their hands. Maybe they make a profession of doing this. Anyway, we got to sing, and we got to eat a whole effton of food at the potluck. So that was all well and good (even though from what I can tell, no one deigned to touch the humble offering of leftover lentils we brought and we had to eat it for dinner tonight for the third time in a row). Overall, it was quite lovely, and I feel like the most down-home, countrified, Southern belle of them all.
Ugh. College students are so immature. Here is an accurate transcript of a conversation Zac and I had not two minutes ago.
Zac: What do you think S-hole is doing right now?
Me: Most likely he is sleeping like the good little nerd he is.
Zac: Are you sure he's not doing something else?
Me: I suppose he could be studying.
Zac: No, something eeeeeeeelse!
Me: I'm sure I don't know what it is to which you are referring. (Parenthetically, is that ungrammatical?)
Zac: You know what I mean. I bet he's having "fun" right now.
Me: Ew...
Zac: Oh yeah! All guys have needs you know! At about 7:00, the internet in the dorms gets really slow, and if you try to take a shower, everything will be full and all the drains will be plugged up. It's sooooooo gross! (spoken with evident glee)
Me: I don't really need to know about this...
Zac: I bet S-hole has to leave class sometimes to "go to the bathroom" and-
Me: EWWW. GO PRACTICE ZAC.
And there you have it. Perhaps 85% of Zac's conversations, when they are not about himself, run on the same theme. Ugh. S-hole indeed. I feel unclean and impure now. Maybe I should go dunk my head in a bucket of ice water so I can chill the image from my brain (though I don't think that will be at all effective). I hope I don't become like this when I go to college, but sadly, I feel that I might. It will be a great disappointment, and I shall lose any vestiges of sophistication I might have, but maybe the transformation will have its good points. After all, at least I won't be nattering on about the economy anymore. Hopefully, the puerile aspects of my personality will fade after awhile and I will again be the pure Puritan we all know and love so well. I can be Hank as well as Dagny, you see, and none can tell me otherwise.
Now, this is going to be quite abrupt, and will have no preface or preamble, but I am going to go to bed now. It is, you see, two in the morning. We may have a three day weekend here, but that is nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I must get my rest so that I don't grow into a troll. Goodnight now!
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