I remember one sophomore who could think of nowhere else to go with his book report after his first sentence, which nonetheless sang and resonated with echoes of the ancient Anglo-Saxon: “This book is fuct.”
— Don Foster, Author Unknown: On the Trail of Anonymous
I don’t know about Anglo-Saxon overtones, but I need some sort of word to describe the delightful state I’ve confined myself to. Let’s run through the situation:
- Rent. Due 1 Nov. Have, no shit, $8 in my checking account.
- College application. Also due 1 Nov. I was working under the impression that this was due 1 Dec. Nope, not so much. Don’t even have the paper form, much less a request in to people to write letters of rec, or a score on the GRE (which takes 2.5 weeks to score the new essay portion.) [Update, 25 Oct: One of my references is gone until 30 Oct.]
- Stat test. It’s coming 4 Nov and I am completely unprepared. [Update, 25 Oct: today Carlos asked if I needed any personal help. On Wednesday, he said, I gave him "the blankest stare" he'd ever seen.]
- Chadwick paper. Need to synthesize the argument of French lawyer/theorist Jacques Ellul into a paper due 30 Oct. Incidentally, did you know Ellul’s The Technological Society was a big favorite of the Unabomber’s? What a shock. Oh yeah, haven’t read it (uh, as closely as I’d like.)
- Abbott paper. Ten pages on diffusion models and how they relate to communication theories. 31 Oct. Articles? What articles?
- The Matrix project. A 75-minute presentation scheduled for 7 Nov. Number of group meetings: 1.5 (4 of the 10 people came to the 2d). Number of pages, slides, images, other supporting materials of any type created: 0.
- Other shit.
Jennifer‘s birthday (a welcome respite from these other duties), various meetings, The As-Yet-Unnamed ReschkeCollaboration Project, and more.
Hmm, on second thought: I am very fuct.