The End of a Semester

As the Weather Channel so aptly put "Read it and Weep"

When asked how my day went today I would probably answer it went as well as a bird who see a worm only to find out it's a reflection of its beak as it contacts your window. So not a bad day, it started slow, had a moment of excitement (and I thank you guys for that too) but here we are... dead on the ground.

Whoa? how'd we get there from such a deep post last time? Because this blog is like the ocean. You've got shallow and you've got deep. Whales end up in both, but only one is suitable for it. If you're thinking it's the deep you're wrong. Giant Squids.

Today marked the last day of the semester for college so that was something. But then again so is a dead bird. It's something, it's just not a nice something. But on the topic of something, how can someone eat blue cheese and still have the confidence to get out of bed? It's the equivalent to thinking biscuits and wheat thins are the same thing, or rocks and rice crispies. (Product placement).

You could tell by the vacant stares of my fellow survivors that we're far from over. No the party is just starting. Finals. We felt accomplished because today felt like we were slightly freed, but in reality finals are waiting in the alley we just passed holding a hammer to give us one of the most uncomfortable doses of beatings we could ever expect.

You know what the problem with old books tends to be? Dust. Dust comes at you like a window to a birds face (I will not let this go), and you know what? I'm allergic to dust. Oh and library books.

Library books are the bane of my existence. It's not that I detest books it's just I value my health... or I just coddle my immune system. Because in every single library book you find left overs of the person that had it before you. If you've ever checked one out, you must surly know what I mean. I assumed the previous owner did something like this:

             Shadows danced upon the walls of the dark room as Steve's eyes rested upon the red sleeve of the book. Light reflected from the protective plastic sheath guarding the outer edges of the mighty adventure that awaited him.
             His fingers caressed the delicate white pages until his forefinger met the shedding piece of cloth which marked the place he had ceased previous. Like the seas in the days of Mosses, the pages parted revealing a small printed number around one inch by one inch from the lower right corner, the number read 54. His eyes flickered with excitement as they gently flowed through the lines of text as if it was silk sliding through his fingers, until finally reaching the text which he had left forty-two hours ago. His mind jolted as it came to life evoking the text on the page beneath into images, and worlds within Steve's head.
          "To judge the morality of ones actions, one can not for him self decide for a mind is biased to it's creator" this line echoed within the mind of Steve as he continued on "The world around him lay in but ash and dust, each rising to the sun mocking it's failure to protect those beneath it. Echoes of silence filled his mind, as he heard the screams of all the fallen he could not save."
           Steve's eyes drifted upward as he imagined the sorrow of the fallen man. The page quivered as his hand raised to his face. A sensation ran to his ear as his index finger glided like a jet into his nasal passage. Like the canals of old, his finger the vessel, his nose the calm waters, he was at peace. The soft grip of mucus clung to the ridges of his slick wrapped phalanx. The ecstasy overwhelmed his mind, as the elasticity of the mucus was tested. Like a feather falling to the ground, his finger slipped from the cavern it had been within the path  it continued on, before returning to the page bellow, forever leaving behind a stain of green and red, like the man broken on the page bellow. 






Yes. That. STOP DOING THAT. Can you not go 10 seconds without excavating your nasty human air filters? It's not like they are that efficient anyways...







But I digress. College finals, things. So here I go having another semester under my belt, think of the pride I feel, I made it. Considering less than five months ago I was undergoing a massive identity and personal crisis, and almost left college all together, I am pretty glad I stuck with it. I guess if your dreams are important enough holding on to them is the only thing that matters. Because the paths taken until we reach our dream lives don't always take the easy way. Sometimes the path is twisted, long and scary at times but perusing it, gives you a better chance of making it through. And plus, even if you don't reach your dream, at least you tried. You had honor, and that's what counts. Do you think that bird quit at it's dreams? No, because it probably didn't have any because it's a bird. And now it's dead.

So to answer the question on your minds:
If you're wondering if a bird actually died against my window today, don't worry. It may have. I'm not going to confirm or deny that a bird hit my window because it just as likely may have, or may not have. BUT I can tell you this: sometimes it's better to think with your stomach than with your mind. I want food.


Bathrooms

At this point I'd advise you to stop, I've lost control of what I'm thinking. As time marches swiftly forward towards the pre-dawn light I find myself in a state of I don't care.

The greatest question in the Universe is this: Who in the heck thought it would be a good idea to make bathrooms acoustic?

I mean let's face it, everyone has to eventually brave the cold embrace (or warm if you'r unlucky) of the Public Restroom (the very words make my tremble with fear). That alone is one of the most horrible experiences of my life. So there you are minding your own business when suddenly the guy three stalls down sounds like he's the big bad wolf huffing and puffing and trying to blow the little pigs  house down, and judging by the horrific grunting he's making, he's having about as much luck as the big bad wolf did on the brick house. But hey, who am I to judge, maybe his diet consists of only nails and lead, and that's why he sounds like a dinosaur about to give birth.

Then on the opposite side in the corner across from you, you've got the rocket ship guy. I swear if NASA contacted him, they wouldn't need to spend all that money on proportion, because from what I can tell he's probably flying a couple of feet off the seat every second.

But really everybody just tries to be quiet. Why? I don't know, it's not like only some of us go to the bathroom, why do we have to treat it like such a shameful thing?
It turns what could be an efficient I'm in, I did what my body naturally does with things I don't need, into an awkward contest of who can be more quiet in a game of firecrackers.

Instead of people being in the bathroom for 3-5 minutes, they end up lasting for 20 as they attempt to draw out the combustion over a longer time, while only resulting in them having to muffle their heavy breathing. You can literally tell when they are covering their mouths with their hands to make their breathing more quietly, it makes a very distinct noise. And as much as I don't want to know how much toilet paper you're using, stop slowing pulling it out of the contraption. It makes a weird hollow echo that sounds the the distance beat of war drums, and that's the last thing I need to worry about in there.

I'm sorry, but if I have to go through the experience of using a public restroom I don't want to have to pretend I don't go to the bathroom, in the bathroom. I mean what else are bathrooms for? (MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER). Instead of being efficient places, they slow us down. And make us feel shame. Well guess what, everybody does the poo. (If I ever get a girlfriend this will be embarrassing).


And just as quickly as the bird saw the worm, it died. Farewell until next time.

And Yes, I did talk about doodoo