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Feb. 21st, 2005

I wrote an extensive snark to the bus driver this morning. That would be because he stopped. At the gas station. Mid-route. During morning rush-hour. FOR COFFEE. It was two and a half pages long. The rant, I mean. However, I don't have the energy to type it out right now. I might do tomorrow. Stupid driver. Doesn't he know I'm late?

Thanks to the Gaiman blog, I have been dragged not so much kicking and screaming back into the extremely nerdy and addictive amusement that is the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy text game. I was hardcore in high school. Hardcore, I tell you. Serious addict. It kept me from a project in grade eleven. It is EVIL and fun and absorbing and detailed and I am doooooomed.

Kim called as I was on my way home to do studious school things and demanded I attend her with my digital camera, so I did. There were strawberries. Which I brought. I have thusly read only two chapters of the bloody book for tomorrow, so I will get up an hour early and skim tomorrow morning. Gods I'm so glad I'm nearly done my history requirements. No more classes with one two-hundred-page academic bluster every week. Novels only. No more. What is wrong with them? And why in hell do they keep giving us group projects, in FOURTH-YEAR CLASSES? I'm an Arts student, for crying out loud. No career I intend to pursue requires me to socialise well with people I dislike, or toward whom I am indifferent, damnit.

When did everyone on QaF get so damned whiny? Gods. Blech.

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Chandri MacLeod
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