Now that I'm back in school, I'm pretty sure I've contracted the worst case of senioritis there ever was. I don't want to do anything at all. It's a veritable battle to make myself finish my homework in a timely manner without drifting off and eating chocolate like the lazy pig that I am. Waking up in the morning is the worst thing ever, and I walk around all day feeling that everything is beneath my contempt. I think it's quite a problem. Have I become Raskolnikov? I don't want to be him! I mean, he's very good looking and smart and all, but he also kills someone. And he is wracked with guilt for the rest of his life. So... I don't know, I just feel like he might not be the best role model for me. I have to keep pushing along though! I can't become the Dagny Taggart of my day and age if I don't. And I'm determined to become the Dagny Taggart of my day and age. I finished Atlas Shrugged, by the way. It was very inspirational. It made me want to do something with my life. It was so effing good! (I really need to change up my syntax here; this entry is so far about as interesting as a college football game) Anyway, I feel no shame in declaiming to the multitudes that I am an ardent capitalist and will remain so until the day when I leave off being one. This is my life now. Someday, when I am rich and famous and a Supreme Court justice and all that, I will look back and think fondly of my ideals and bless the day I dreamed a dream.
In (somewhat) the same vein, I really love money. The study of it, I mean. Not that I don't love the actual acquisition and possession of currency, because dear me, I'm as filled with capricious cupidity as the next capitalist, but economics overall is like the Dohvakiin of academia. In spite of the fact that I hate almost everyone in my class, and my teacher seems to have a personal vendetta against me (for no reason that I can see) and I have to sit next to a smelly otaku who is fond of telling me about the novel he is writing, I legitimately enjoy going to Econ each day. When I'm just hanging around, in choir, or trying to get to sleep at night, or whatever, I ponder the economy and debate with myself over various issues. I still haven't worked out the problem of tariffs yet, but bless my soul, I will get it someday or die trying! And even though our teacher told us that we don't have to so much as go near it, I read the textbook whenever I get the chance. Yesterday, I was reading it just before I went to sleep, and that night I had the most wonderful dream that I was the chief economist in Washington and I ameliorated the national debt. I don't really know if my policies were viable or not (one particularly successful strategy involved handing fluffy purple towels out to the populace so that they could use them as blankets), but I woke up with a feeling of great leadership and accomplishment. So, you see, economics is wonderful.
Oh dear. I sound like the most plebeian of all mundane pedestrians right now. Lyk omg i kno about $$$ nd stuff! haha lol taht's so cool cuz im cool. #swag#yolo#foshobro. But I try not to be! I mean, I think the first step to getting over plebeian-ship is to admit that you are a plebeian. It's like the rules of Fight Club. Or do I mean the 12 steps of alcoholism? Well, whatever I mean, it is in my heart, and I have done it. Someday, even though it may be far off in the future, I will renounce my plebeian status and become a truly great man. Then I can talk about whatever I want without shame and I can study political science if I want to, because no one will judge me for it, and I can ponder deep mysteries of economics until the cows come home because I will not be living on the ranch of plebeian-ship and I will not have to deal with them. I can drink wine and smoke cigars and have a solid gold cane and wear a bowler hat everywhere I go. And no one will think me a plebeian, because I will not be one! Life will be beautiful. Sadly, I have quite a long way to go. Oh dear, oh dear. Life may be a journey, but I rather wish I could find a way to travel first-class. Still, the experience of finding my inner pedant may be good for me. It will give me perspective and whatnot. Someday, I will look back on all this and laugh (because I will probably be quite the asshole at that point), but we'll never get to heaven til we reach that day! (That was an allusion. From Ragtime. See, I'm getting better, I am.)
You know, I really like having my hair wavy. It's cuter that way. I wish I could do it more often, but I don't like repeating myself too much, so I only do it on Fridays about once a month. Oh, that makes it sound like a ritual or something. Oh my. It's not though! I like to dress up a little more on Friday, because it's the end of the week, and I get to go home and have some sleep and a little free time to look at pictures of cats on the internet have deep, edifying, and meaningful discussions with the world at large. It's just my way of standing up to the man (or, you know, something). I like to dress up in general, though. I mean, like, if I'm having a math test or something, I have to channel a mathematical spirit and dress accordingly. I'm not really sure what a mathematical spirit would look like, mind you, but I think my approximations are quite close enough. They approach the limit of fabulousness as I approach C(lassiness). I also like to celebrate occasions for myself, just to spice up the day. Like, if it's April 20th (which, as we all know, is pot day), I'll wear green, and on Memorial Day, I'll wear lingerie, because I will be in bed asleep. So, you see? Dress is my strongest suite!
I wonder if I'm going to end every paragraph from here on out with an allusion to a musical. Maybe I should. Wouldn't it make everything more lighthearted? I wouldn't want to be too serious, after all...
...Not for the life of me. Zing!
Lol. Zac is practicing in the library (very loudly too, might I add), and every couple of minutes, he stops playing and bursts into song. It's very funny. He may be the musical genius of the century and have a genetic predisposition to any instrument he cares to take up, but he sure can't sing. If I weren't convinced that it was in fact Zac in there, I might be persuaded to believe that an operatic cat with laryngitis had somehow got into our house to die. Oh no, now he's made a mistake. A despairing grunt just came issuing from the room. Maybe he should sing the passage again; it would give him some amusement in the doldrums of his disappointment. I used to think that everyone could sing if they were given the chance, but he has amply proved me wrong. I have never heard such melodies as he has warbled (though the vocal music concert this quarter put me remarkably close), and I hope I never do again. If vocal music be the food of love, he's starving.
Oh my, it's almost three in the morning. Time for me to get to bed! Maybe I will dream about the economy again. I quite hope so. It would be infinitely preferable to the time I dreamed that I had to take the Ring into Mordor. That wasn't so lovely. I woke up feeling like the most manly of awkward men, sort of like Aragorn times one hundred. I feel like him quite often, actually, it's becoming quite a problem for me. Maybe I should just become king and have done with it. At least then I would get to make foreign policy and regulate trade and all, even if I did have to fight the occasional orc. Anyway, I must get my beauty rest so that even if I feel like a rugged Ranger, I won't look like one. Goodnight ladies!
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