I finally got all that reading done, maybe an hour ago. Now what I have left to do is post an example of how local resistance to globalization is not always Doom; I also must write two compositions in Japanese. Man, I hate nonfiction writing.
Where was my family today? Beep beep it to beep, you guys! What kind of support system is this??
All the really productive people I know of have somebody to report back to, someone to…I do not know, exist.
As it is, I would really like to be making a comic about either myself, something random, or Kenny; or else I should practice drawing from the instruction books’ examples, which I have not done in at least a week. However, I have these two writing assignments and would not be unreasonable enough to do something “fun” like that without getting my work out of the way. Eventually. After I stare at the wall and think misanthropic thoughts.
Female otaku, 5’5.5″, blonde, blue eyes, slender physique, seeks lifetime-guaranteed single-unit human support system. Applicants must be both biologically and genetically male, though appearance need not correspond closely. Applicants also must provide evidence of Divine guidance having initiated application. Acceptance of application will involve legal contract and fluffy civil ceremony. Support systems that fail to support will be dismissed. Additional duties include philosophizing, hugs, and decorating environments with mere presence. Must love Jesus and have high tolerance for pessimistic rambling.
Maybe if I were a good little Christian, I would be close enough to God not to feel lonely when I go through an ordinary day communicating only with those weird pink things that move around in my Japanese class–what are they again? Oh, right, classmates. Yes, I isolate myself and then complain about it. But honestly, I cannot remember the last time those animate classroom scenery props made me feel less isolated. (No offense.)
Fuuuuuuh, this misanthropism is probably also one of the major reasons I am alone. That and the fact that my sister has done the public service of demonstrating the drama and heartache that result from dating without a sign from Above, of course.
In the time it took to write this entry, any normal person could have had both assignments completed. But not me. What does that say? Does that make me a slacker, a moron, or just an anti-social anarchist hippie?
Love in a detached, alien sort of way,