Electronic Misery

It’s supposed to be blue funk week! In theory, though not yet in reality, for this supposed blue funk week has yet to become blue and funky. It’s more like a gray and drab week. The weather is to damn warm for Minnesota in November. Its not even sweatshirt weather today! Da HELL? Nothing of note has happened in any classes. The activities have been mundane but tolerable- Group work, which of course turns into socializing: A mindless activity at the first year college level. Lectures: I'm not awake to know if they are good, so we will assume that they are blah, similar to the other lectures we receive in this corrupt and impersonal institution. A Test: Once again, something that neither challenges the intellect nor punishes the unprepared. Epiphany: The roommate has an obsession with reorganizing.

Last night, I sat miserably and watched the roommate draw out THREE different plans for how she (I hesitate to use the word "we") will arrange our room over the next semester. I like it now. We rearranged about a month ago, and quite frankly, I am very happy with the room the way it was. {It no longer IS. She rearranged.} We seem to have more space in the middle now. Really, due to recent events, we seem to have more space in general. That is, you can look around and notice the effects of Hurricane Meghan, who hasn't had classes in the last four days, with greater ease. Red Cross Katy has not been around to provide disaster relief. Perhaps my presence would have made no difference. Perhaps it would have. The 'If Onlys' won't get me anywhere, but they sure are nice when one has to face a constant shift in the things one tries to take comfort in their consistency. Ahh, if only I could lie on the futon. If only I had access to the space atop my side of the closets.
*Let me explain why I have lost my space atop the closets. The TV, that evil talking box that has the power to render man a slobbering blob and has, as of yet, NOT been removed from my sanctuary, is now atop The Roommate's side of the closets. Her disaster of personal items has splashed across the territory of this corner of Section 3A. She now has a greater proximity to her evil machine, and has been able to get reception on a greater variety of channels to a more pleasing degree. Though I cannot see this damn box as easily from my shrinking territory, its voice and scathing portrayals of shallow idiocy scream in my direction with more frequency than ever before, turning this week into a bluer shade of gray.

Caribou Coffee, here I come! As soon as I am paid this month, I will seek shelter in a Mummy Bag from Cabelas after cleaning out the back seat of my car, and fixing the passenger door, which refuses to open from the inside. It seems that the characteristics of the occupants of this room have engaged in a dramatic Peripety. Sadly, though I seem to be the independent, outgoing, and social one, I still feel Pathetic.