Waltzing Alone

Well, it seems the Plague is running rampant throughout the school system. The most likely cause is the incentive points, which seem now to be more of a Devil/soul-selling thing than an actual positive note for education. That's not to say I wouldn't hesitate to come to school and spread some sort of vile contagion even without the accursed points, because I'm just that kind of a fool.

But to cope with all the horrible tragedy (and idle time I thought I'd fill walking through the halls), I've decided to try walking 1 (or 3/4 time, whichever strikes your fancy). It's rather interesting and certainly entertaining. You can just walk along and as the time in the rhythm comes up, backpack permitting, you can twirl around, do a leap, or glide right in front of passers by in an attempt to create a pile-up for your own sadistic enjoyment. It rivals trying to tap out the percussion part to Mars, The Bringer of Mar and hum the main theme at the same time (If you want to drive yourself crazy, try it; 5/4 is just crazy!).

Speaking of my ever spreading insanity, as if I didn't have enough frayed thoughts roaming my mind in search of prey, my contacts apparently require mental power to sustain their incredible non-glasses-requiring-seeing-power-of-refraction. In layman's (and coherent people's) terms, according to the all-knowing optometrist different muscles are used in contacts than in glasses (or the same muscle differently), thus I have to condition my eyes. You'd think after all my years of sight, and there's quite a few believe you me, I'd be good enough at it to not need training. But nnnoooo. So instead, during this arduous process, my mind becomes foggy and I can't focus. Not that I do a very good job under normal circumstances, but you can see how this compounds the problem. Ah well, I guess now I have an excuse for eccentricity. Well, besides the malnourishment and mental scarring.

And that is about all the rambling I feel up to today. Remember to post if you want a chance to change these blasted colors. Otherwise, continue doing what you were doing before you got distracted. Unless it involves five surgeons, a miter saw, and a beautifully grotesque copy of Thomas More's Utopia.