First, an addendum to the previous post. When I left work last week, I walked out to the garage to discover that I had been avenged by some drunk and/or volatile person – the parking gate, which had so rudely interrupted my egress, had been vanquished. That is to say, the large u-bolts holding it on to the gate mechanism had been broken and bent. I can assume only that someone had driven through it with a truck or similar vehicle with a high enough front end to press on the bar (for normal cars, it is windshield height). Presumably, the person was: drunk, lost their ticket and couldn’t get out; drunk, had no money and couldn’t get out; drunk, oblivious and didn’t even notice there was a gate there; an unholy extension of my battered soul. I figure whichever the case, that gate had it coming.

Analyzing images is boring me to death. I can’t be arsed to create a plausible conclusion/thesis to my English paper. I’m not having trouble babbling about the images or how they were carefully premeditated to promote the product in question. I’m having trouble caring why anyone else should care. I read the example essay once or twice, and while I know I can improve mine, I just don’t really care one iota. Seeing as how my girlfriend is not going to be around much this weekend (not working graves, she has a life), I’ll probably have plenty of time to waste not doing it. Don’t say you didn’t see that one coming.

The school thing—as a whole—is destroying my will to do anything. Anything I do instead of school: cleaning, drawing, writing, even teaching myself things – it feels like I’m wasting my time. I don’t know how to shake that sensation. I think that maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m paying for school myself. If I screw up my classes, I not only have to take them again (which would have been murder on a younger self), but I have to pay for them again (which is murder on my current self). I can’t really even enjoy television or games without feeling some twinge of guilt.

In other news, my friend Alex—after years of imperfect professions—reports that he finally netted a dream job at a dream company. Congratulations.

Anything I’m missing? Oh, that’s right – bedtime.