RØB Severson (jabberwocky) wrote,
RØB Severson

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O-O-Over And A-Over, I'm Gonna Be A Fool For You

I just saw Megan McCaul in the hallway of Sverdrup.

Try as I might to catch her eye, maybe to give her a friendly wink as she approached (engaged in conversation with someone else), she pretended like I didn't exist. I'm certain she saw me from further down the hall, before I saw her, and consciously decided not to notice me. I take this to mean that in spite of what she thinks, and indeed, in direct contradiction to what she thinks, I've won, because I haven't decided I'm too good for her. Or anybody. Well, she can eat shit and die, and here's hoping she does, cuz God knows, her reasons for hating me, whatever they are, are without foundation and more than likely, don't even exist. Not that I care, I just think it's funny how obvious she's being about ignoring my existence. I think it'd be hilarious to approach her randomly, maybe pop out from behind a corner without her knowing I was there, and just be like "Hey! So I heard you think Courtney and I deserve each other." Then I'd wait maybe a second or two, to get the uncomfortable look on her face and maybe a scoff or a roll of the eyes or an "umm," and then I'd interrupt her with "I agree. I think we're both pretty great people, ya know?" Then I'd pat her on the back, and walk off in the direction from which she came.

Maybe I should leave notes on her car next time I see it. I used to do that when we were actually friends. Only these notes should be typed out and threatening. Or if not threatening, at least insulting. Or maybe I should let the air out of her tires. If she weren't such a nothing of a stimulus, I might do all of these things. Instead, I'll do none of them and just be content knowing that I'm a better person than her, and that everyone I know whose opinion matters (whether to me, or more generally), agrees.

So yes, I took my French exam, which could have been a little easier, but I think I did just FINE. I could have used one more read-through of all the little poems we read, but whatever. Then I turned in four copies of my portfolio review statement, and I'd include it here as one of those compressed text things if I knew how.

I don't know how to contact Ian MacBryde. It's his class that I missed last night. Our syllabus has none of his contact information thereupon. I E-Mailed some dude from the class to try 'n' find out what the hell's up with what's due and shit, though.

I think my MOM is coming into town on Thursday for general whatevery. That should be cool, I reckon. I think a grocery time is in the cards!

And last night I took several hours out of my schedule, with which I could have been doing any number of things (Scriptwriting assignments, portfolio review statement, portfolio review reel tape, really ANYTHING), to do the dishes, take out the trash, and clean the kitchen. God knows, if I didn't do it, nobody else was gonna. It took forever, and I didn't even mop like I wanted to. It looks a helluva lot better, though. Yeesh.

I don't know if I have something due in tonight's "Applied Media Aesthetics" class. I should call Kyle to find out.

...Damn; his line's busy. Well, maybe later. I have two and a half hours, I guess.

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