Interim

I'm sitting in the political science department, waiting for my 3:00 class (the phonology-statistics-computer programming mashup), since it's in the basement, for whatever reason, and I have about an hour to spend contemplating the mysteries of life here. I usually don't bring Daisy Bell to class with me, but we had to analyze an article in English, and I was too lazy and poor to print out all twelve pages, so here I am. The article in question was a singularly annoying one, to be honest. It was filled with the most irritating social-democrat rhetoric, and tarred neoconservatives, libertarians, and Rush Limbaugh with the same defamatory brush. Now, I don't deny that there are many problematic aspects to Richard Matheson's writing, but none of them are the fault of today's right-wing politicians, no matter what social justice English majors might say. But no matter how incensed this shortsighted invective made me, there was nothing I could do to protest its promulgation, because I still can't make myself talk in class. I could have a Hermann Melville-style essay written up in my head, the thesis of which is right on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn't matter. It's such a frustrating phenomenon, because I've lost count of the times that I've been the only one who knows what's going on, but I haven't said anything, and our poor professor has to spell it all out. How can I get over this? I don't even know what's wrong with me; I haven't had any traumatic experiences or anything (that I know of), so I should be able to shout out the answers with confidence and a complete lack of shame. But I can't! This is why my participation is always the lowest part of my grade.
It's gotten warmer recently (oh dear, that was quite an abrupt subject change, I do apologize), so much so that I'm not even wearing a coat today. It's 46.8 ºF, according to Wunderground, which I would have considered to be glacial in California, but now seems friendly and paradisiacal. What has become of me? I could move to Antarctica with impunity now, and make a home with all the penguins. Maybe I should do that. I would probably like them much better than people.
You know, I think my life has gotten progressively duller as the months have passed by. I've never been a very exciting individual, but now I've practically become the human equivalent of Longfellow's rhyme scheme. I wake up; I go to class; I go back to my dorm; I watch Netflix; I sleep. I never go out, and unless someone talks to me first, I won't talk to anyone. Also, I don't even keep myself busy anymore; I spend a significant amount of time each day just sitting on top of Melissa's abandoned filing cabinet, staring out the window, and ruminating. That would all be very well if I were a philosopher or a postmodern artist, but I am neither, and no amount of change in lifestyle will change me so. I really hope I'm not turning into some kind of Tennessee Williams character. That would be so terribly inconvenient. Well, I'll just have to watch out, and if I start collecting little glass animals, I'll know I have a real problem.
Spring break is coming up in three weeks, and I should be excited, but I'm not, because I'm facing a bit of an issue here. You see, the university, erroneously assuming that we all have rich friends who will fly us out to exotic locations for vacation, makes it a policy to close down most of the residence halls on campus, without so much as a by-your-leave. They do keep a few open, and apparently once the time rolls closer, they'll allow us to apply for asylum, but I don't see how three or four buildings, no matter how large, will be able to accommodate the extremely sizable population of international and out-of-state students who will undoubtedly be searching for a place to rest them so from trouble sore. Now, if I had a few extra hundred dollars lying around, I would buy a plane ticket back home with excessive alacrity, but as it is, I have the sneaking suspicion that I'll be trying desperately to eke out a living on the cruel streets of Columbus while my more fortunate classmates enjoy all the comforts that money (and a close hometown) can bring. Or maybe I'll have to live in a broom closet with sixteen other people and no wifi for a week. One never knows. If only it was socially acceptable to hit up one's rich boyfriend for money. Or rich anybody, for that matter. I'm sure there are plenty of wealthy alumni living around here; maybe I could convince one (or two or three) of them to help me financially in the name of education and patriotism. I could even repay them for their services by performing at their social functions, or editing the pieces of rhetoric they send around to all the members of the upper echelon in the state. This is such a good plan! I'll just dig up my shabbiest clothes, put a little dirt on my face, and a few sticks in my hair, and I'll be ready to play my part in saving my future. Goodness me, I am truly an inspiration.