The non-angsty post (kindly suspend your disbelief)

Thursday, March 22, 2007
Poor Ax had some kind of breakdown on Tuesday night, just as I was in the middle of taking a second stab at my translation project. Luckily I’d just sent the first pass to M., so all I had to do was run around in a panic for about ten minutes and then settle down with a notebook, then get up ungodly early and run around campus looking for a computer I could actually type on (as opposed to just search the Internet, which is all the library computers do). I got the thing in on time – and when I say “on time”, I mean AT 12 noon. It probably sucks, and I find that I care deeply that it probably sucks. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. I found some Apple repair people in Brentwood. The guy who eventually managed to resuscitate poor Ax was kind of an ass, but he didn’t charge me so I think I’ll forgive him. Between you and me, I don’t think he had any clue what he was doing. But whatever it was, it seems to have worked, and everything seems to be present and correct.

( Spam of the day: 'I ferrous he nubile'. AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! )

The non-angsty post (kindly suspend your disbelief)

Thursday, March 22, 2007
Poor Ax had some kind of breakdown on Tuesday night, just as I was in the middle of taking a second stab at my translation project. Luckily I’d just sent the first pass to M., so all I had to do was run around in a panic for about ten minutes and then settle down with a notebook, then get up ungodly early and run around campus looking for a computer I could actually type on (as opposed to just search the Internet, which is all the library computers do). I got the thing in on time – and when I say “on time”, I mean AT 12 noon. It probably sucks, and I find that I care deeply that it probably sucks. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. I found some Apple repair people in Brentwood. The guy who eventually managed to resuscitate poor Ax was kind of an ass, but he didn’t charge me so I think I’ll forgive him. Between you and me, I don’t think he had any clue what he was doing. But whatever it was, it seems to have worked, and everything seems to be present and correct.

( Spam of the day: 'I ferrous he nubile'. AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! )

The angsty post

Back from spring break with the parents, and a bit at loose ends. Scheduling fun as always. What’s even more fun is fending off the parents’ attempts to get me to do something with my life. I think part of my problem is that as a child, I never envisioned myself as being grown-up, and even in college I couldn’t form clear possibilities about the future, immediate or distant. My dad thinks that grad school would be an excellent way of passing a few years, just to be doing something. Every single professor I’ve talked to says the opposite. He says that I should get a PhD in something or other and then write for the New York Times. What he doesn’t seem to grasp is that I have had it with academia, at least for now. I couldn’t bear to put all my time and energy into something if my heart wasn’t in it. It’s hard enough right now, when I’m taking easy classes and nobody expects anything of me. Grad school would be hell. The brain and heart are not wholly unconnected, you know? Biologically or otherwise.

My mother, having once heard me express a vague interest in publishing, has taken to ordering books with titles like “Careers for Bookworms” and “Careers in Publishing: How To Get Started” from Amazon.

I’m not sure which I find more infuriating.

The angsty post

Back from spring break with the parents, and a bit at loose ends. Scheduling fun as always. What’s even more fun is fending off the parents’ attempts to get me to do something with my life. I think part of my problem is that as a child, I never envisioned myself as being grown-up, and even in college I couldn’t form clear possibilities about the future, immediate or distant. My dad thinks that grad school would be an excellent way of passing a few years, just to be doing something. Every single professor I’ve talked to says the opposite. He says that I should get a PhD in something or other and then write for the New York Times. What he doesn’t seem to grasp is that I have had it with academia, at least for now. I couldn’t bear to put all my time and energy into something if my heart wasn’t in it. It’s hard enough right now, when I’m taking easy classes and nobody expects anything of me. Grad school would be hell. The brain and heart are not wholly unconnected, you know? Biologically or otherwise.

My mother, having once heard me express a vague interest in publishing, has taken to ordering books with titles like “Careers for Bookworms” and “Careers in Publishing: How To Get Started” from Amazon.

I’m not sure which I find more infuriating.