Slow, deep breaths

I had the urge to kill this morning. Actually, I've had it intermittently since two in the morning, when a bunch of half-wits stood in the parking lot outside my window, screaming their goddamn heads off. I actually left a message with the campus safety dispatcher telling asking if they could please "silence the fuckwits in the GA parking lot." Just because they don't have Friday exams doesn't mean no one else does. I would have had an 8:30 exam if I hadn't been exempted. I would have dragged their damn ears to my exam and made them personally plead for my grade, as we have seen that I cannot take an exam on little sleep.

So, this morning. 9am. I get a call from a resident-- aren't you supposed to be checking me out? Except that Kim cannot be with us Saturday (big surprise), and as a result, I'm taking her Saturday slots, and she's covering my Fridays. Kim had not shown up to the checkout. I called her cell. I called her room. No answer. She had the paperwork, so I had to jog in to the office and get his roommate's paperwork so I could approximate. Just as I'm keying into the building, Kim strolls out. A half-hour late. Murderous urges, people.

In other news, I made friends with a tree last night-- a tree that sits outside my summer apartment. It's a big, tall oak with long branches and a little patch of grass at the roots perfectly shaped for my butt. We're going to be reading buddies, he and I. I introduced myself, and I guess he'll tell me his name a little later. Oaks are funny like that. I'll be back again when the cicadas come and go.


Now, I deserve pancakes. To be served without a knife, for the protection of those around me.