First off, HABBY HABBOWEEB!  Hope you find yours enjoyable.  I’ll be enjoying mine by doing absolute jack.  You can have your parties and candy. I’ll be too busy sleeping and worrying about…

NaNoWriMo.  Oh, yes.  Tomorrow is the day.  And while I was excited about it before, I’m not so sure now.  I barely have time to sleep, much less pull a novel out of my ass in four tiny weeks.  And although Kev has said he will give me the time to bang out some pages, I don’t see myself as willing at the time, nor do I see it as being too much of a help against all I will have most assuredly NOT written in weeks prior.  In other words, I think this is going to be fail before it even starts.

Then again, any progress is progress I can work with.  If I fail to finish, who cares?  I never really expected to finish.  If I only get twenty five pages out of the deal?  Great!  It’s twenty five I didn’t have before.  So it won’t be that bad.

No problem.  No matter what, no problem.

And now, ladies and gents, we present to you, the Religious Right’s finest corn-fed hick, Tracy Kerlee!:

ETA: Oh, snap!  They took it down.  Conspiracy!  CONSPIRACY!
Sorry if you missed it, folks.  Especially sorry that she still exists, somewhere in the wilds of Virginia…

Not in general, but perhaps about the College of Social Work, and what I’ve observed within it.  And what I’ve observed, so far, is that these people are fucking douchebags.  Have a complaint about how business is conducted?  Bitch while you can, hope some people listen, before the complaint is wiped from the record completely.  Looking for help?  Ask away, but expect condescending remarks directly after your problem is addressed.  I think I might be at the wrong fucking University for this sort of program, if this is what peer-support is like.  Peer support in fucking Social Work for chrissakes… you know, a field of work where you’re supposed to, oh, I don’t know, help people?  Nurture and support those in need?  Be an advocate for small voices?  Right.  Right…

I realize I’ve been rather hypersensitive over the last few, but I think this would grate my nerves under the swellest of circumstances.  Maybe not to this extent… the extent of thinking of changing schools or perhaps even major… if I am indeed going for my Master’s, why not just do Psychology?  The only reason I decided on Social Work was so I could find BA-level employment, after all, where a BA in Psychology would have me as good as flipping burgers.  BUT… yeah, that’s something to think about when I’m not so hypersensitive and pissed off at the world.

Then again… maybe I should consider it before I commit myself to potentially useless classes next semester.

One of the many benefits of student life at the University of Kentucky is the fact that basic healthcare is free.  Oh no, they don’t give you a choice.  They take your tuition first, and then say “Oh, by the way, you get thisnthisnthis”.  Which is pretty cool if you use it.  One of these days I will actually use the Johnson Centre.  One of these days.  Maybe quite a bit, if I’m allowed to sneak Kevbo in with me.

So it’s getting close to time where I should have my annual pipe-checking event.  Dial up the clinic, get an appointment in great time (less than a week, and not because they didn’t have earlier spots).  Sweet.  I’m set.

Go in today, and I find out my doctor is some T. Dale dude.  Didn’t think anything of it until the nurse mentioned that he used to work at the hospital down in Cynthiana.  “Oh,” I think.  “I wonder if that’s…”  and then he walks in.  And wouldn’t you know it?  I know the guy.  And this is a guy I vowed to punch in the face the next time I saw him (not expecting to really see him again).  See, the burning hatred stems from the time I put my hand through a window and nearly severed the tendon on my right index finger.  I go into the ER, and instead of doing what a SMRAT doctor would do (which would be sending me straight to some specialists in Lexington), Dr Dale decides he can stitch it up himself and all will be fine.  But all wasn’t fine! Oh no!  I have a horrible sunken-assed scar that, eleven years later, still hurts like a motherfucker if I even just think about it.  Seriously, you don’t even have to touch it to make it scream.  It hurts just to think about.  As a matter of fact, I feel like gnawing my knuckle off as we speak.

The good news is, I didn’t punch him in the face.  The bad news is… I didn’t punch him in the face.  But I guess I figured out why he did a shitty job on my hand.  Maybe he just wasn’t used to working on that end.  *ting!*

Haha, wow.  Hello, world.  Did you enjoy reading that??  *freak*

Fair, productive day so far.  I have my paper for tomorrow almost finished… just need to wrap up the ending and clean up the edges to make sure it doesn’t sound like a retarded seventh-grader wrote it (which is about how I feel right now, and not for lack of self-esteem… just out of sheer exhaustion).  Then to just get caught up on my German.  Half ugh, half yay.  I still rather enjoy it, but for the life of me, I can’t remember any of the fucking verbs.  I think, should I ever attempt a trip to  Germany or Austria, I’ll just resign myself to being the idiot that says weird shit like “me plate” and “you car?”

At least I can sound like a proper caveman.  Can you imagine if I said “I plate”?  Pah!

Anyway, I failed to mention last night that Dad is back home, because I was freakin’ tired.  I twittered it, though, so you can’t say you weren’t informed… you can only say “I didn’t look hard enough for the information.”  So take that.  But yes, Dad is home, and sore, but I’m happy to have him back to Diddly-Dadding around.

Now I guess I should actually start working on that homework I was talking about.  But not before “wow”ing over how amazing it is to feel so loved by such a wonderful manboy.  Sometimes I get so happy I could barf.  And I hope it’s not like, barf barf.  I would think love-barf should be made of glitter and roses.  But I don’t think glitter is something a body synthesises.  Maybe roses, if you’re a vessel for the Holy Virgin, but glitter?  Nah.  I digress!  No one has brought me such happiness, fulfillment, and contentment before.  It’d almost be like ‘peace’ were it not for us both being kind of childishly chaotic.  I think it’s as close to ‘peace’ as either of us will ever get.  And it’s pretty damned nice.