The following post will be filled with a plethora of bitching on a variety of subjects. Some of these subjects deal with things I would not normally deal with in such a public forum, but I have a healthy belief that I have built up a substantial store of karma throughout my 23 years and it is my contention that once in a long while, I am allowed to withdraw from this bank and the universe will look the other way.
So, without further adieu, let the complaining begin:
Basically, since I awoke on Monday morning, my week has been spiralling through layers of hell that would make Signore Alighieri blush (well, not that bad, but how often do you get a chance to make a Dante reference?). With assignments, tests, work, and many an emotional loop-the-loop, this week certainly merits some consideration as one of my least favourite weeks in recent memory.
I rarely post about school because, honestly, I knew what I was getting in to when I started (well, re-started). But, the next person who complains about classes or assignments or tests will be beaten severely about the head and neck with my (at this writing) 73-page marketing plan. So there.
As is so often the case, Sports Night puts it extremely well.
Dan: See? Sometimes it's worth it, taking all the pies in the face.
Casey: And sometimes you just stand there. Getting hit by pies.
Since April, I have proudly been Dan. I have taken many a pie, I have attempted to break down emotional walls built with bricks of pain and mortar of tears and the third thing, I have lived in a world of psychosis and delusion, yet my confidence has remained intact. For I am Mike.
Since Monday, however, I have (not so proudly) been Casey. Despite an unusual ability to dress myself, I have had absolutely no game and have been peppered by all manner of baked goods.
Will my Caseyness stop me? No. No it will not.
Which brings me to my next point - the next time someone takes it upon himself to advise me that it is not worth the effort, I will dedicate the remainder of my life to the singular endeavour of transmogrifying him into some kind of a sea creature.
I am not one to chase Pyrrhic victories, and if I did not think that the effort put in was worth it, I would not be putting in the effort. Every ounce of effort is worth it if I am expending it.
So please, at the very least, humour me.
Why is it that they people you want to have share their thoughts and feelings with you choose to share with everyone but you?
And why is it that when you try to share with the people who's problems you have listened to, they never listen?
I have a very simple strategy to begin mending tensions in the Middle East - stop...lobbing...explosive...devices...at...populated...areas.
There are no rights or wrongs in conflicts like these; no matter how many times the media paints Hezbollah and Hamas and the Palestinians as terrorists, the truth is that the Israelis have killed boatloads more people than those three combined. Plus, the Mossad is one secret service with which I would prefer not to trifle.
There is terrible stuff going on in a lot of places in the world, enough to make you lose all hope for mankind, but it is a very rare occasion that it's possible to separate the issue into terms of black and white.
On toga parties
We are having a toga party on Saturday. Many people are coming. The one person that I badly want to come (no offense to Ben or any other party-goers) will be several hundred kilometres away to start the day and, if my recent experiences have been any indication, I may not actually see her.
I still intend to have a good time (as good a time as can be had wrapped in a bedsheet), but we'll just see if my streak of frustration continues.
On good stuff
This week has not, in fact, been all bad. The Buddha Board that I received from Carley for my birthday is actually an insanely wonderful creation. Not only is it a cool concept, it actually works to alleviate stress like it is intended. I have spilled a lot of water, however. But thank you very very much, my dear.
Also, Firefly - Ben's gift to me - is an excellent show, even if it does just scream "dork" that I stayed home alone tonight and watched three episodes.
I am also still recalling fond memories of seeing so many wonderful people on Sunday.
So, I only have about eight hours of work left in my yearly Week From Hell, and then it all comes down to one thing: screw you guys, I'm going home.