Urge To Kill... Rising...

Today sucks.

Basically, all I had to do was go get my eyes checked and go to the U to get my advising worksheet signed. Not too difficult, huh?

Except for the fact that I must have driven under a ladder to avoid a black cat and accidentally crashed into a mirror warehouse, knocking over a salt silo, in a previous life. Because the luck is something I do not have.

I left with plenty of time... but I took transit. And that was a good clue that my day was going to suck right off the top, cause really, it demeans us all. Got on the bus... oh great, no juice in the ipod, so that means I get to listen to the winners of the city's "Definitely Not Our Best And Brightest" Contest listen to Justin Bieber at 90 decibels and have domestic disputes on their cellphones all the way downtown. Awesome! My pen broke, leaving me unable to finish the crossword ("way out" is an "exit" you witless baby-boomer across the row, not "cool.") Apparently B vitamins make me nauseated if I don't take them with food -- add the gentle and graceful lull of the city bus lurching like a horny jackrabbit every 15 seconds, and you have one very pukey Psyche. So I get downtown, find a place to eat and try to order something somewhat healthy. I get a quinoa salad (a VERY expensive quinoa salad) and some quiche, only to discover that the salad is full of parsley. Seriously? People actually eat that shit? [One time my brother was told by his girlfriend's father that if he finished his entire plate of food he would pay for anything on the menu, so Brother ordered the most expensive steak in the house, and an hour later finished it in great pain. When the cheque came, father of the girlfriend said he wouldn't pay because Brother didn't eat the parsley garnish... so, Brother got the plate back, ate it, and then barfed in father of the girlfriend's trousers.... it was awesome.] So I paid about 10 bucks for a quiche... dammit. Then I head off to the Optomitrists, only to discover, I've gone to the wrong mini mall. I'm now going to have to get back on transit and be late. As it is, I got there only 3 minutes behind schedule... but only after sharing a bus with 20 screaming teenagers here on some sort of cultural dumbass exchange. I seriously pitty the country who got our dumbasses, btw... And take solice in the idea that somewhere in Eastern Europe, there is a stressed out grad student dealing with Canadian teens screaming nonesense about Kraft Dinner and beavers in her ears. Now the eye appointment is done and I have precisely enough time to get to the U to meet Dr. Supervisor who just needs to sign my advising worksheet. That's all.

I get there, I rush over to the office...

I sit down, get out my paperwork...

I wait patiently...

I get bored and decide to check my email...

Oh, there's an email from Dr. Supervisor...

Oh, they just realized that they told me to meet them at the U when really they were going to be in their home office. But that's okay, because I can CALL them. Really? I can CALL? Well that's just fucking great because I need your SIGNITURE, and the last time I checked it was impossible to send your John Hancock through 25 kilometres of fibre optic cables!!!

Ok, Psyche? Maybe you're overreacting? It's not that big a deal? No... I suppose not. It's just the sooner I get this signiture, the sooner I get in line to register for courses which fill up very very fast. And for once, just once in my life, I would like to get the decent course, with the prof that everyone likes, instead of the demonic succubus masquerading as a purveyor of higher education. It's complicated... I'm trying to get into a course with very limited enrollment, and I just figure... hey... it's not gonna happen, not because of anything I did, but just becuase the path of life is mine field of dogdo.

Gonna go meet a fellow slave to other people's idiocy now for an herbal tea or something. Bitchiness loves company...