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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.

Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.

Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.

I couldn't be more The current mood of ronkc@diaryland.com at www.imood.com right now.

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Do you love me?

02 October 2001 | 7:09 PM

Bathroom Signs and High School Reunions.

Okay.

So this morning, I'm laying in bed, thinking about how I don't really have to get up until late morning, seeing as how I don't have a morning class. I enjoy being able to relax, drifing in and out of sleep... Sigh...

And then the drilling starts. Apparently, directly above me, one floor up, heavy-duty construction is going on.

Down the street, there is an appartment building going up. So they're hammering like nobody's business, as well.

So I got up.

There's been some problems on my floor regarding the men's and women's restrooms. There were plastic signs designating each. These plaques were drilled into each side of the door. At one point during the summer, for some reason or other, the restrooms had to be switched, so the signs were switched. When the time came to switch them back, they just put paper signs over the plastic signs. When it was realised that the women's restroom had more urinals than the men's restroom, they were switched back. After it was realised that the now-men's restroom had feminine hygine product recepticles and the now-women's didn't, they were switched yet again.

Keep in mind that this is a co-ed floor, and there are somewhere between forty and sixty students on the floor (not counting residents' guests). Surely you can see the uncomfortable situations resulting.

Yeah. Interesting.

One quarter of this particular floor is designated as "Jesuit Guest Rooms." This year, there is a door seperating the Jesuit Guest Rooms from regular student rooms. There wasn't last year. This one guy who lived on this floor last year would take his cordless phone to that end of the hall to talk to his girlfriend. This was a really good idea, as there was hardly anyone on that side of the hall, so it was really quiet and no one would bother him. He could hang out in the little noook by the fire exit, and he was fine.

So, as I mentioned, there's a door blocking that area off now. So the farthest he can go is outside the door of his room. Which is right across the hall from MY door. Which is interesting. I realise that he wants privacy, which is why he likes the end of the hall. The thing is this: talking on the phone outside his door like that, his roommate can hear him from inside the room. I can hear him from inside my room. Poor guy.

One thing I forgot to mention the other day- I got a letter from my high school's alumni association. Eugh. Remind me again why I want to spend $25 a MONTH on the organisation which caused me the most trauma in the most vulnerable period of my life, adding to the situation that they get to know where I live for EVER?? I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really don't ever want to go back. Ever. Don't get me wrong, there were some really cool individuals in my graduating class. People I admire, and was friends with. There were very cruel, very not-cool, even *detestable* characters in my graduating class, as well. They say a group is only as strong as its weakest member. My high school experience was an exceptionally negative one. One I never want to relive, let alone revisit. As a group, I never want to see those people again. EVER. As a group, I don't want those people to see ME ever again, either.

There are those that suggest that I should put all that to rest, and go to my high school reunion anyway. I should prove to them that I *can* have a good time, despite them. I should prove to them that there *is* life after the high-school experience. I won't. I won't be the one proving anything. The people who suggest that I do these things probably have not had bricks thrown at their heads. They are not the ones who had their cars vandalised. They are not the ones who were humiliated on a daily basis. They are not the ones who lived in fear. They are not the ones who had to live with so much anxiety that it manifested itself in physiological maladies.

I tore up the form for the Carmel High School Alumni Association, and recycled it.

I will not be going to my high school reunions. Ever.

If you want me to go, you'll have to dig up my cold, dead, rotting corpse and drag me there. And prop me up. And even then, I will come back and haunt you until you wish that you had never disturbed my remains.

That said, I'm going to do some homework.

Smile of the day:

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