Saturday, February 11, 2006
Last night, as I walked dormroomward through gusty-winded coldness from Sam's II, clutching a cup of hot cocoa to my breast in manner similar to that a eunuch might take holding his organ jar, I contemplated ever strongly the notion of voluntarily abdicating my position at Sam's II Chitwood/Weymouth. The work exercises absolutely none of my intelligence faculties. The coddled, ignorant, obnoxious little brats I serve make me want to slash my throat, or theirs. Granted, I chose a forty-hour week, but it leaves me too physically exhausted to study properly most of the time.
That I rarely study or read distresses me of late, because the skills derived from such pursuits are the ones I would need and desire- not my current adeptness at making sandwiches and smoothies. The other students in my departments (though, of course, their lives are not handed to them, either) work less, study more, and are therefore farther ahead than I am. I am just competitive enough to be thoroughly frustrated by my failings in academic scholarship, unlike the frat-rats and sowhority girls who get plastered/sloshed every weekend and certain week nights, coming into Sam's for the sole purpose of further embittering me.
I might wax further on this subject, aber jetzt muß ich arbeiten.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:16 PM]