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Scribbles and Dreams
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non_plot: this week's topic is "dear diary." Hence, Ross Matthews' meeting notes.)
Meeting Notes
1. Proposal for pre-term advising appointments for juniors regarding work assignments in senior year.
2. Proposal for permanent nulltime pockets installed in the common rooms in order to facilitate increased homework load.
3. Proposal for this meeting to stop and for me to go out and get some sushi. Sushi and a nice big box of Belgian fries. And a coke.
4. I could probably just split and they'd never notice. Wally's too interested in hearing himself talk.
5. Fuck, this is boring. Blah blah blah blah blahditty blah …
6. If Wally Cavanaugh breathes on me again, he's first up against the wall when the revolution hits, damnit. And I'm going to rip his entrails out with my bare hands and present them to the heavens and laugh maniacally as I slurp them down while the warm gore drips down my chin. And I'm going to LIKE IT.
7. Yes, you fucking git, you. I know you're reading this. Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to be so nosy?
8. Or maybe I'll let Stephen do it. Wally did give him that ulcer. And it's always good to placate your lackeys, it keeps them sharp.
9. Number nine … number nine … number nine …
10. There is no number ten. Deal.
"When I am king you will be first against the wall … with your opinion which is of no consequence at all …"
Wishful thinking.
I wish that Jennifer didn't remind me of Anneka whenever I look at her in the wrong light. I think it's the hair.
Why did I take this job again? Oh, right, Allanna dragooned me into it. I could have worked at Brown, or Caltech, or MIT, and instead I get hitched to this fucking ship of fools. Academy dean. Bah. I hate titles. Brain the size of a planet and I'm stuck here listening to the vaguely chickenlike clucking noises of these imbeciles.
Vaguely chickenlike. I like that. They'd be good with a nice cajun rub, wouldn't they?
Note to self: Jose Cuervo and orange kool-aid is a bad idea. It may kind of look like a tequila sunrise, but it tastes like orange flavoured rat poison.
Note to self, again: two cookies and a bag of Fritos is probably not really lunch, even if temporally it's technically considered such.
I wanna gohome back to Tahiti.
If Stephen ate my Krispy Kreme donut I'll slit his throat with my ballpoint pen and drink the blood out through the barrel. And don't think I won't, either.
I wonder if I can hit Wally in the back of the head with a spitball?
I miss you. Damn you, why did you have to leave like that? You took part of me with you. And not even the important parts.
It's three o' clock. Time for the penguin on top of my TV to explode.
non_plot: this week's topic is "dear diary." Hence, Ross Matthews' meeting notes.)Meeting Notes
1. Proposal for pre-term advising appointments for juniors regarding work assignments in senior year.
2. Proposal for permanent nulltime pockets installed in the common rooms in order to facilitate increased homework load.
3. Proposal for this meeting to stop and for me to go out and get some sushi. Sushi and a nice big box of Belgian fries. And a coke.
4. I could probably just split and they'd never notice. Wally's too interested in hearing himself talk.
5. Fuck, this is boring. Blah blah blah blah blahditty blah …
6. If Wally Cavanaugh breathes on me again, he's first up against the wall when the revolution hits, damnit. And I'm going to rip his entrails out with my bare hands and present them to the heavens and laugh maniacally as I slurp them down while the warm gore drips down my chin. And I'm going to LIKE IT.
7. Yes, you fucking git, you. I know you're reading this. Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to be so nosy?
8. Or maybe I'll let Stephen do it. Wally did give him that ulcer. And it's always good to placate your lackeys, it keeps them sharp.
9. Number nine … number nine … number nine …
10. There is no number ten. Deal.
"When I am king you will be first against the wall … with your opinion which is of no consequence at all …"
Wishful thinking.
I wish that Jennifer didn't remind me of Anneka whenever I look at her in the wrong light. I think it's the hair.
Why did I take this job again? Oh, right, Allanna dragooned me into it. I could have worked at Brown, or Caltech, or MIT, and instead I get hitched to this fucking ship of fools. Academy dean. Bah. I hate titles. Brain the size of a planet and I'm stuck here listening to the vaguely chickenlike clucking noises of these imbeciles.
Vaguely chickenlike. I like that. They'd be good with a nice cajun rub, wouldn't they?
Note to self: Jose Cuervo and orange kool-aid is a bad idea. It may kind of look like a tequila sunrise, but it tastes like orange flavoured rat poison.
Note to self, again: two cookies and a bag of Fritos is probably not really lunch, even if temporally it's technically considered such.
I wanna go
If Stephen ate my Krispy Kreme donut I'll slit his throat with my ballpoint pen and drink the blood out through the barrel. And don't think I won't, either.
I wonder if I can hit Wally in the back of the head with a spitball?
I miss you. Damn you, why did you have to leave like that? You took part of me with you. And not even the important parts.
It's three o' clock. Time for the penguin on top of my TV to explode.