This one is short, but it's a verbatim transcript of the thought process that went down in the library tonight.
Well...maybe not verbatim.
It's basically right.
Happy studying...studs.
the thirteen phases of OChem homework.
(actual number of phases may vary by experience and interpretation)
8:30 p.m.
The Pep Talk.
Okay. Okay. Okay...okay.
I have three days until the test.
I have extra time off this week.
I am going to be fine.
9:00 p.m.
The "Nomenclature" Phase.
Bro I am so good at this ish. Check me out. No. Don't. Check out freaking 4,6-dimethyl-5-(1-propynyl)-5-octene and then CHECK ME OUT.
9:15 p.m.
You know, I probably should have brought my answer manual, because I have no idea if I'm actually doing any of this right.
I also have no idea what any of this means.
WAIT WHAT
9:16 p.m.
ALL THESE WORDS ARE SO BIG. WHY.
9:18 p.m.
HOLY RICHARD F. HECK THAT IS A LOT OF SUBSTITUENTS.
9:19 p.m.
*Regroup*
...
9:25 p.m.
The "Copy The Notes" Phase.
Wait, this is so fun! Where are my markers!? Let's make this a rainbow! A rainbow of chemistry and happiness! Dr. OChemTeacher, I love you so much!
9:40 p.m.
I HAVE TO KNOW ALL OF THIS BY FRIDAY WHAT EVEN
9:45 p.m.
WHY ARE ALL THESE WORDS SO LONG
9:50 p.m.
HAVE I REALLY BEEN STARING AT THIS PAGE FOR FIVE MINUTES
10:00 p.m.
Literally everything in this book sounds like a supremely questionable sex act.
10:10 p.m.
The "Screw It" Phase.
Screw it.
12:30 a.m.
WAIT WE HAVE A QUIZ TOMORROW
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
...there's that.
Hello, America.
I suppose I forgot to mention that I wrote two posts while I was on break and didn't post them on Facebook because I gave away my password for Facebook. They're both under the December heading. You are welcome. Merry late Christmas to you and I'm sorry I'm not better at gifting.
Writing a blog post is an elaborate process. It involves starting a post that I never finish, briefly editing and revamping several other posts I never finished, and thinking and wishing and almost getting to something good while my ideas slosh about, until, three weeks later, and right before a significant assignment is due, usually, it suddenly erupts into some variety of weird volcano that doesn't make coherent sense but still explains how I'm feeling.
Today, I was musing upon what the heck I was going to write about next, and when the heck I was going to find time to study for my OChem quiz (the answer to that question is right now...oops), and who the heck was going to have to clean up the remains of my psyche once my impending meltdown hits, and how the heck many times can I use heck in one sentence, and so on and a heck of a so forth. I felt sick, but I went to class, and I went to see my mom, walked to the store, made myself some food...
...and here we are.
And now, here we are not, because it's 3 days after I wrote that last paragraph. I didn't have the patience or the time to finish it, because I was...tired...and I had Cell lab at 6 and I think I started it at 5. Oops.
In other words, today is another one of those days upon which we will attempt to show yet again why I am not destined for any vocation that is even remotely related to philosophy.
Also, I just read through it all again, and it's kind of boring and preachy, so...sorry.
I suppose I forgot to mention that I wrote two posts while I was on break and didn't post them on Facebook because I gave away my password for Facebook. They're both under the December heading. You are welcome. Merry late Christmas to you and I'm sorry I'm not better at gifting.
Writing a blog post is an elaborate process. It involves starting a post that I never finish, briefly editing and revamping several other posts I never finished, and thinking and wishing and almost getting to something good while my ideas slosh about, until, three weeks later, and right before a significant assignment is due, usually, it suddenly erupts into some variety of weird volcano that doesn't make coherent sense but still explains how I'm feeling.
Today, I was musing upon what the heck I was going to write about next, and when the heck I was going to find time to study for my OChem quiz (the answer to that question is right now...oops), and who the heck was going to have to clean up the remains of my psyche once my impending meltdown hits, and how the heck many times can I use heck in one sentence, and so on and a heck of a so forth. I felt sick, but I went to class, and I went to see my mom, walked to the store, made myself some food...
...and here we are.
And now, here we are not, because it's 3 days after I wrote that last paragraph. I didn't have the patience or the time to finish it, because I was...tired...and I had Cell lab at 6 and I think I started it at 5. Oops.
In other words, today is another one of those days upon which we will attempt to show yet again why I am not destined for any vocation that is even remotely related to philosophy.
Also, I just read through it all again, and it's kind of boring and preachy, so...sorry.
Some (like eight) Reasons Why Life Is Exactly Like Chocolate Pudding.
You can't see into it.
Can you see into the future? No. Nobody knows whether or not you're going to be rich or famous or dead (ooh, morbidity already?) in ten years. You don't even know what color your hair will be. HA! Everyone seems to think the future is this crystal ball we can look into and rely on as a standard for what we should be working on now, but maybe staring into a bowl of pudding would be just as useful, because either way, you won't be able to know what will happen, except that you will probably be hungry, and when that happens, you will have a bowl of pudding.
It's riddled with uncertainty.
Speaking as a college student, who muses everyday on the chance that nothing I'm learning will ever be valuable to me, I'd say that it was a semi-accurate statement that a lot of us don't trust the system. Who cares if we get an education? Who cares if we fail this class? Who cares if we study for Chem? I probably won't get a job anyway! Why do you think I'm writing this? I have a Chem test in five days! Do I care? NO! No. Yes...yeah. I care a little.
Eh.
All personal procrastinatory (not a word) tendencies aside, how are we supposed to know? All our friends who didn't go to college have jobs and apartments and fiancés/fiancées (did you know that word was gender-specific?) and we have dorms and dependence on our parents and homework. All we can do is go by the numbers, that people seem to be better at getting jobs if they go to college. We go by the instructions on the box, that even though expecting pudding to come out of a giant bowl of milk and two spoons of powder seems like the most counter-intuitive thing we've ever done, it might end up as something delicious and wonderful. Until then, all we can be sure we amount to is oblong lumps floating around in disappointment.
It is a mystery.
Going off of that, I don't understand how cells become babies or how whatever is in that funky little box becomes the ultimate center of deliciousness. The miracle of life, the miracle of Jell-O.
It is easily shelved.
When I was young, I was of the opinion that the unexpected or the uncertain were things to be avoided, or not meant for me. GUYS. I still think that. You still think that! Right? Oh...
Well. Okay.
I don't know what to write here.
Hm.
My point was going to be that as human beings (not robots), we tend to be very go with the flow, not in the sense that we take things in stride, because that's a good thing, but more in the sense that we tend to shift our equilibrium towards disappointment. (Chemistry joke, anybody?) I was going to say something about how we need to not be satisfied with boredom, or maybe that our potential needs to be made kinetic (there it goes again), and in order to experience life at its finest, or be ourselves at our fullest, we may need to raid the pantry. I was also going to throw something in about how after long hours (or ten minutes, let's be real) of searching for a snack on a set of packed shelves, a box of pudding is often the reward, and it would have gone unnoticed for weeks, maybe years, at my house, if we hadn't gone looking for it.
I just couldn't figure out how to word it.
It is intensified about a hundredfold when you're on your period.
My friend's boyfriend asked me what happens when girls are menstruating (which may be the most uncomfortable word in the English language, which is why I prefer to say it in a British accent), and I told him that we cry, yell, write nonsensical blog posts, spend too much money, and fall over a lot. Speaking and walking become nearly impossible. Living becomes the hardest thing we've ever done. At the same time, we also develop an insatiable taste for chocolate, especially chocolate pudding, which magically becomes a hundred times better right at that time of the month when you need it most.
For the record, the same principal applies to Oreos and cookie dough and sometimes buffalo wings.
It used to be gross.
Back to the concept of blobs of lumps in milk. Really, though. It's pretty nasty. I don't know how else to describe it. It was gnarly, yucky, chunky, moderately offensive, possibly resembling vomit. LIFE CAN DO THAT TOO. Believe me when I say that everyone has a crap ton of struggles and problems and issues that they fight through every day. People have screwed up. And yet, even through that pain and that overwhelming yuck, they become the heroes that they are. Against all flipping odds.
I definitely just almost threw in a plug for Jesus.
But really. Jesus.
It comes out of nowhere.
The whole point behind chocolate pudding is wanting to eat something gooey. Most people would imagine that the process by which you achieve gooeyness is to mix together two things of the gooey variety. In the case of some puddings, especially ones that involved mashed bananas, this is true. However, I am poor, and the Jell-O variety is all we have; therefore you are going to have to roll with the metaphor. Jell-O pudding comes by taking something that is very dry and lacks all the characteristics of gooey and mixes in milk, which is far too, um, milky? and runny, and not gooey either, and magically, you get pudding, which is goo at its finest.
My mom always told me that before the occurrence of my father, she never wanted marriage or children, or anything that even slightly resembles anything that she has now, which so happens to be marriage and children. I think a lot of young people run around saying they know what they want, and they know how to be happy. A lot of old people thought that too, and say now that they were wrong. They fell in love. They found their calling. They were hired to some job that changed their life. And they let go of whatever they thought made them happy, because they knew that in comparison to what they have now, they were sad. My mom's happier than she ever thought she could be. Or else, she better be, because, hello? Me?
The key to enjoying chocolate pudding is not thinking about the fact that it was powder and milk literally minutes ago, and accepting the fact that it's delicious. The key to enjoying life is trying not to think about how your parents had to have had sex in order to make you. GROSS I'm kidding. And you just thought about it.
I actually don't know what the key to enjoying life is. I think maybe having hope is a good idea though, that maybe the ick has a chance to become something delicious, if pudding is a reliable standard.
It doesn't work unless you stir it.
IT TAKES EFFORT, FOOLS. GET ON THE BALL.
I'm kidding.
But seriously.
fin.
Can you see into the future? No. Nobody knows whether or not you're going to be rich or famous or dead (ooh, morbidity already?) in ten years. You don't even know what color your hair will be. HA! Everyone seems to think the future is this crystal ball we can look into and rely on as a standard for what we should be working on now, but maybe staring into a bowl of pudding would be just as useful, because either way, you won't be able to know what will happen, except that you will probably be hungry, and when that happens, you will have a bowl of pudding.
It's riddled with uncertainty.
Speaking as a college student, who muses everyday on the chance that nothing I'm learning will ever be valuable to me, I'd say that it was a semi-accurate statement that a lot of us don't trust the system. Who cares if we get an education? Who cares if we fail this class? Who cares if we study for Chem? I probably won't get a job anyway! Why do you think I'm writing this? I have a Chem test in five days! Do I care? NO! No. Yes...yeah. I care a little.
Eh.
All personal procrastinatory (not a word) tendencies aside, how are we supposed to know? All our friends who didn't go to college have jobs and apartments and fiancés/fiancées (did you know that word was gender-specific?) and we have dorms and dependence on our parents and homework. All we can do is go by the numbers, that people seem to be better at getting jobs if they go to college. We go by the instructions on the box, that even though expecting pudding to come out of a giant bowl of milk and two spoons of powder seems like the most counter-intuitive thing we've ever done, it might end up as something delicious and wonderful. Until then, all we can be sure we amount to is oblong lumps floating around in disappointment.
It is a mystery.
Going off of that, I don't understand how cells become babies or how whatever is in that funky little box becomes the ultimate center of deliciousness. The miracle of life, the miracle of Jell-O.
It is easily shelved.
When I was young, I was of the opinion that the unexpected or the uncertain were things to be avoided, or not meant for me. GUYS. I still think that. You still think that! Right? Oh...
Well. Okay.
I don't know what to write here.
Hm.
My point was going to be that as human beings (not robots), we tend to be very go with the flow, not in the sense that we take things in stride, because that's a good thing, but more in the sense that we tend to shift our equilibrium towards disappointment. (Chemistry joke, anybody?) I was going to say something about how we need to not be satisfied with boredom, or maybe that our potential needs to be made kinetic (there it goes again), and in order to experience life at its finest, or be ourselves at our fullest, we may need to raid the pantry. I was also going to throw something in about how after long hours (or ten minutes, let's be real) of searching for a snack on a set of packed shelves, a box of pudding is often the reward, and it would have gone unnoticed for weeks, maybe years, at my house, if we hadn't gone looking for it.
I just couldn't figure out how to word it.
It is intensified about a hundredfold when you're on your period.
My friend's boyfriend asked me what happens when girls are menstruating (which may be the most uncomfortable word in the English language, which is why I prefer to say it in a British accent), and I told him that we cry, yell, write nonsensical blog posts, spend too much money, and fall over a lot. Speaking and walking become nearly impossible. Living becomes the hardest thing we've ever done. At the same time, we also develop an insatiable taste for chocolate, especially chocolate pudding, which magically becomes a hundred times better right at that time of the month when you need it most.
For the record, the same principal applies to Oreos and cookie dough and sometimes buffalo wings.
It used to be gross.
Back to the concept of blobs of lumps in milk. Really, though. It's pretty nasty. I don't know how else to describe it. It was gnarly, yucky, chunky, moderately offensive, possibly resembling vomit. LIFE CAN DO THAT TOO. Believe me when I say that everyone has a crap ton of struggles and problems and issues that they fight through every day. People have screwed up. And yet, even through that pain and that overwhelming yuck, they become the heroes that they are. Against all flipping odds.
I definitely just almost threw in a plug for Jesus.
But really. Jesus.
It comes out of nowhere.
The whole point behind chocolate pudding is wanting to eat something gooey. Most people would imagine that the process by which you achieve gooeyness is to mix together two things of the gooey variety. In the case of some puddings, especially ones that involved mashed bananas, this is true. However, I am poor, and the Jell-O variety is all we have; therefore you are going to have to roll with the metaphor. Jell-O pudding comes by taking something that is very dry and lacks all the characteristics of gooey and mixes in milk, which is far too, um, milky? and runny, and not gooey either, and magically, you get pudding, which is goo at its finest.
My mom always told me that before the occurrence of my father, she never wanted marriage or children, or anything that even slightly resembles anything that she has now, which so happens to be marriage and children. I think a lot of young people run around saying they know what they want, and they know how to be happy. A lot of old people thought that too, and say now that they were wrong. They fell in love. They found their calling. They were hired to some job that changed their life. And they let go of whatever they thought made them happy, because they knew that in comparison to what they have now, they were sad. My mom's happier than she ever thought she could be. Or else, she better be, because, hello? Me?
The key to enjoying chocolate pudding is not thinking about the fact that it was powder and milk literally minutes ago, and accepting the fact that it's delicious. The key to enjoying life is trying not to think about how your parents had to have had sex in order to make you. GROSS I'm kidding. And you just thought about it.
I actually don't know what the key to enjoying life is. I think maybe having hope is a good idea though, that maybe the ick has a chance to become something delicious, if pudding is a reliable standard.
It doesn't work unless you stir it.
IT TAKES EFFORT, FOOLS. GET ON THE BALL.
I'm kidding.
But seriously.
fin.
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