Friday, September 15, 2006

Well, I'll be damned if it isn't halfway through September already.

And I haven't submitted my common application yet because certain, nameless entities deep in the bowels of Cornell's bureaucracy haven't yet changed my incompletes into grades. And I would rather be shot in the leg than send out a transcript with that tawdry INC on's the academic equivalent of a scarlet letter, isn't it? Not like an F is failure, pure and simple...but an INC, like Hester's vermilion A, has a story behind it; one that you want to know but don't feel wholly entitled to ask about... Was she just not able to hack the class? Did her mother die in the middle of the semester? Did she have a nervous breakdown and go skipping naked across the Arts Quad, handing out posies to strangers? Did she have mono, or possibly cancer? Unless you ask, you never know...and after the grades have been entered into the system, there's still that indelible asterisk after the grade (eg, A*), like a little scar reminding you of what was, or rather what wasn't--at least not on time.

Furthermore, there's trouble in paradise. I have developed (another) wholly unfeasible crush. I thought for while that I was getting those vague 'hey, how you doin'?' vibes that we lesbos do so well; she was animated and interested and stood very, very close to me while we were talking. HOWEVER (and there's always a caveat, isn't there?) she is at least 15 years my senior, possibly a little more, which makes her old enough to be my mother; she may have a lover already (though she's spoken in suggestive terms about polyamory); and, last but not least, she is--drumroll, please--one of my instructors. Oy veh ist mir.

In our next episode: less self-centered bitching and more social awareness!

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