Woah, horsies!

Assault postponed due to unfavorable weather.

Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Did you just ever slowly come to the sickening realization that you have a plan? I don't mean that in the normal sense. I mean have you ever realized that something apparently benign has precipitated from the whirling chaos of errant thoughts and concerns and you realize that no matter what you want to do, you have a plan and by God you are going to follow it?

I can't help but think of a commander looking at a heavily fortified enemy position and realizing that, against all sense and entirely without reason or orders from on high, he is going to charge that point. There is no real reason to do so except for the fact that a thrice-damned plan has formed in his mind and seems to be the best plan that he'll ever have. He knows that it is hopeless to resist, almost as if some outside force is compelling him to see it through to the bitter end, so he might as well do his best to keep the death toll to a minimum.

Yeah. It's one of those.

See what happens when my laptop goes on the fritz? I have time to think. Bah!

Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies

I seem to be rapidly devolving into some manner of creature that eats and breathes sappy poetry when online. My away messages grow increasingly riddled with the stuff, as bodies infested by alien parasites. Or even the normal kind. The last time this happened I had no fewer than two Shakespearean love sonnets in my AIM profile. Romantic poetry, why dost thou plague me so?

Bah. Got the stuff on the brain something awful.

Is there balm in Gilead?

About two and a half months ago, I had the pleasure of dropping a rather heavy bed on my hand, altough luckily there was a cinderblock under my fingers at the time to break their fall. Typing that brings about a vivid and none-too-pleasant mental image of the event, which triggered unhapy faces and nervous movement of my right hand.

Just recently though, the last of discolored nail has made a break for it, leaving me with hands that to the layman's eye look entirely human. Hurrah for that.

On another note to which my chosen title for the post is still somewhat relevant, for the past couple days I have been the earthly incarnation of the concept of Anxiety. I had dificult Chemistry work due at a specific deadline very close to the actual assignation of the work, my laptop decided to die, I'm a dull and mute young sinner (for those of you voices in my head that read up on my blog), and various small but straw-breaking-camel-backs kind of things. Laptop works, chem work complete, small things more or less dust in the wind. I'm still anxious, but I'm not quite Anxiety Enfleshed at this point.

For now. One never knows when remaining issues will flare up or be obsessed over more intensely by one such as myself, a fellow with arguably far too much time on his hands given to fits of pessimism and haberdashery.

Hats for everyone!

My hat tastes slightly bitter

Okay. I posted a rambling piece about my poor laptop which was hopelessly mangled beyond repair by the twin ravages of heat and my father. The same laptop I am writing this on right now.

All I will say is this.

When machines exhibit a nearly biological capacity for inexplicable self-repair, I get worried. I think that maybe we should get white flags ready to prepare ourselves for the inevitable conquest of our steely, robotic overlords.

I think the flags should have lacey trim.

Ask not for whom the bell tolls...

...it tolls for my laptop.

I had upgraded my lappy to a gig and a half of RAM, which of course increased the heat output when all of that extra goodness was being utilized. Apparently, much to my dismay, my father has discovered the a six hour World of Warcraft binge undertaken while the laptop is placed on a soft, all-encompassing all-faninhibiting pillow is enough to make a hard drive functionally retarded.

Essentially, it is dead.

Friends and I are going to fiddle with it to ensure that the HD is truly deceased and that it is the only member of the Hardware Family thusly slain, and then I must go about the task of replacing it.

Do not cry for it. It is already dead.

I Had At Socrates

After updating my last bit of brilliance (I AM FAMILIAR WITH POETRY L0L @ MYAWESOME), I noticed that I had written about my forthcoming efforts to spin a web of pure unadulterated BS* about Socrates. As a quick update to give this blog a sense of continuity, avoiding the appearance of a series of A HIPPOPOTAMUS IS ONE OF THE DEADLIEST ANIMALS IN AFRICA disjointed thoughts, I did exceedingly well on that paper. A minimum of 5 pages, I churned out 13 over the course of two days. As a reward for my efforts, I received 96 points out of 100, a stunning victory over the man my classments angrily were calling Father "B-" Mohr.

* For the purposes of avoiding lingering resentment in the odd eventuality that a specific Jesuit would be cruising the intarweb and stumbling upon this blog, I define "BS" as "coherent and logical arguments"**.

** My actual definition of BS is so broad and all-encompassing that it covers almost everything I write for school.

This was a very colorful update.

Poetic Interlude That May or May Not Have Something to Do With My Life

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't?
Prithee, why so mute?

Sir John Suckling, Song from Aglaura

Socrates, have at thee!

Well, Fall Break went as desired. I loafed around like a useless sack of donkey crap and then when I got back into school, the daily grind hit me like a truck. Not to worry, though. As this post might indicate, I am not quite completely dead yet.

Today I plan on introducing a friend to the wonderful world of Twilight Imperium 2nd Edition, an epic board game of galactic conquest. Why 2nd? 1st is old and I don't have it, 3rd is new and that costs money. It is my believe that he'll enjoy it, being the relentless DnD and Star Wars RPG nerd that he is.

I should probably also outline a paper due on Tuesday. It's for my Intro to Philosophy class, and let me share something about Intro to Philosophy classes with everyone. When you are someone of reasonable intelligence, nothing will make you feel smarter, NOTHING, then being tossed into the cesspool of complete and utter idiocy that is a Freshman philosophy class. The teacher is brilliant, the majority of the students would have been sterilized by the government had they been unlucky enough to be in the state's care at the wrong time in US history.

The paper is about whether or not Socrates is wise about God. The general plan is to take it slowly, make sure every idea flows logically to the next, and to define any and all major and relevant terms I use. I'm honestly excited at the prospect. It will prove a challenge to do battle with Father Mohr's reputation for having brutal evaluations of papers and emerge victorious.

Updatey time, methinks

I am nestled comfortably in the warm bosom of Fall Break. I intended to do nearly no work or studying, and so far all has gone according to my nefarious plans.

Behold the Poison that is Orgo

Organic Chem lab work is the whole of my day. This is, generally, not a good thing. Even reading over an experiment to be done in lab manages to dredge to the surface every emotion classified as negative. I grow lethargic and revel in procrastination, minor annoyances with people grow to raging furies, major problems with people grow to... well, even more intensely raging furies.

On the whole, it is a terribly good thing that I sequester myself in my room on Sundays and interact with people as little as possible.

I've spent the last twenty five minutes rocking back and forth like an autistic repeatedly mumbling things to myself. Partially because it is oddly soothing, partially because, hell, it's something to do that isn't Organic Chem.

Orgo makes me so psychotic.