October 10-11, 2000 — Seventeen hours in bed

I'm very sick.

Monday, I ended up deciding not to scan the letter I'd written for a few reasons that I needn't get into too much. Immediately after posting my first journal, my sister called and any reasons I might've had to complain about my life were put into perspective. I'm not going to do a journal entry for Monday, since I don't feel that this Web site is the place for me to discuss what happened, and my writing about it would feel exploitive.

That said, I was sleeping or trying to sleep from 5:00PM last night to 10:00AM this morning. Walking, breathing, and getting out of bed were all very painful for most of the day. The many hours spent in bed would have been nice, except the six hours of "trying to sleep" was more than a little bit painful. I caved and took some Advil at 2:00AM, which eventually allowed me to fall to sleep.

Today I had my first physics quiz. The person running my tutorial seems keen on making everything easy for us, and I'm all about that. Despite not having done any of the homework and not having really prepared (since I was in bed for so long yesterday), I think I still got everything right. My physics lab is a bit more questionable, since it was quite nonsensical as far as what we were supposed to do for systematic errors and reading errors and whatnot, but I was barely conscious throughout the lab, so it's remarkable I even remember what the lab was about. The first lab report is basically going to be dropped anyways, so it's all good. I'm really not enjoying this whole "class" thing in university. University would be perfect if I didn't have to put up with professors, other students, living in residence, or homework.

After writing this paragraph, I went and bought food. (Dinner tonight was horrible, as they'd closed down the main cafeteria and turned the vegetarian cafe place into the normal cafeteria, but with fewer options, and carrots as the vegetarian dish. It sucked.) During my walk, I saw the human form that satan would no doubt take if he worked for the L. Ron Hubbard Dianetics Foundation. The gentleman working the desk at the Scientology depot on Yonge Street had the ridiculously well-groomed, dark-haired look that you can't help but picture the devil sporting were he on earth, goatee and all. The truly scary part was that there were people inside inquiring about the call for recruits. Did you shudder, too?

Moving on, then. I'm happy to say that I finally made it into someone else's online journal. For all the complaining people do about not being mentioned in my journal, I certainly haven't been all that popular in other peoples' online journals, as far as I can tell. Until this week, that is, when I made two appearances on Gillian's page. I get the chills just thinking about it. Sure, she was just teasing me for sitting down at the computer to read her email to me the moment it arrived (she was watching on anti-greg tv), but I'm still proud to've made an appearance.

Even after last night's epic sleep, I continue to be quite sick, but I desperately need to finish the BV3 site. Thanksgiving and Monday and being sick have made it nearly impossible to get things together. When the day arrives that I can access computers while lying in bed without having the painful twitch in my arms that comes from typing, my life will be a lot easier.

I'm listening to "It All Comes Down To This," the Bane album, and remembering the arguments I've had as to whether or not it's better than the collection of seven inches. The full-length certainly is better musically, but the lyrics are very one-track, concentrating on the lead singer being more than a little bit upset about his girlfriend having left him. And they make me angry about things I don't like to think about anymore, so it's a lot better for my mental health to say I prefer the compilation.

This journal entry is all over the place. I can't think straight. I think I'm still pretty sick.

I'm going to try to pretend that I'll be better tomorrow physically and emotionally, and promise everyone that my journal tomorrow will make more sense. Although the incoherence of this one makes a reasonable amount of sense considering the circumstances.