More reveries from slumberland

Today hit me kind of hard. There was the American Government class, which is aksumg me for a debate paper in a week on whether or not the war in Iraq was justified. There was acting, which never really hits me hard, but involved running around today, and I have the cardiovascular capability of a chain-smoking obese 12 year-old (oddly enough, this becomes an invalid when I'm dancing). And then I was hit by German, in which I have an assignment to now hand in late, and an assignment due on Friday, but this is still manageable. Then there's the wonderful hour of today that was macroeconomics. You know you're paying enough for college when you learn two days before the 3-5 page paper is due that you have a 3-5 page paper to write. Yes, I probably should have foreseen this kind ofthing coming, what with my having been at a faculty-excused drama conference the day it was assigned and Septober's natural ability to screw with my perception of what is utter bullcrap, but my life just wouldn't be interesting were it not for the self-inflicted pain I suffer.

But I have evidence to support my belief that this, too, is manageable. The one thing I don't know is manageable or not is something that one would expect to be abundantly manageable: my own body. Notwithstanding the incredible cinnamon-flavored fiber cookies it's had me discover, my GI tract is still my mustachioed enemy in this, the melodrama that is my life (hooray, that came out incredibly emo) (as a courtesy, I now take the time to remind my readers that melodramas are actually comedies). So I am off to the doctor's office tomorrow, that I may hope to bring the resurfaced threesies to an end once and for all.

The funny thing is that when you consider that this is my own body rebelling against me, this, too, is self-inflicted pain. And believe me, you can call TMI as often as you want, it's still not even close hearing it as it is experiencing it firsthand.

Tomorrow might be good. Here's to the night.