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Work was long last night, and full of baseball stats. This morning I made it awake in time to get to Structure of English without completely falling asleep in it, and I'm beginning to wish I had done some of the reading so I could participate more, since our corner makes a good... well, not mockfest in the style of a Ferris class, but... sardoniccounterexamplefest. Shh, I've been reading German. Compound words are fun.
Compounds found in the chemistry of photography, on the other hand, are not fun. That test was not a fun test. All the wood chemistry was a snap, but the crazy polymers and unhappy blank page where we were expected to explain and define each step and give the equations for the entire process of black and white photography. Yuck. At least it was relatively short. I got out in half an hour and came home to get some lunch and a skirt for the concert this afternoon.
I thought the major reason for my staying at Stephan's for the last two months was that there wasn't room for me to sleep at home. Not really. No, it's the constant sense of indignant anxiety and frantic research, with idiotic sniping and behind-the-back criticism I get caught up in. Luckily, no one is home right now but Lisa and Mama, and they're less unreasonable than many.
Now I have to go rehearse with the pianist who agreed to play for Special Ops's composition recital, on the songs that turned out to be pretty hard. Mm. And I haven't really looked very hard at them.
Compounds found in the chemistry of photography, on the other hand, are not fun. That test was not a fun test. All the wood chemistry was a snap, but the crazy polymers and unhappy blank page where we were expected to explain and define each step and give the equations for the entire process of black and white photography. Yuck. At least it was relatively short. I got out in half an hour and came home to get some lunch and a skirt for the concert this afternoon.
I thought the major reason for my staying at Stephan's for the last two months was that there wasn't room for me to sleep at home. Not really. No, it's the constant sense of indignant anxiety and frantic research, with idiotic sniping and behind-the-back criticism I get caught up in. Luckily, no one is home right now but Lisa and Mama, and they're less unreasonable than many.
Now I have to go rehearse with the pianist who agreed to play for Special Ops's composition recital, on the songs that turned out to be pretty hard. Mm. And I haven't really looked very hard at them.
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