Life as me

Oooooooh I'm supposed be rewriting an essay because it's due tomorrow, but naturally I'm blogging instead because productivity? Pffft.

I just got back from a meeting with one of my professors who had the unfortunate job of informing me that basically, I completely suck at writing. Lovely. He did so, of course, in an extremely polite, scholarly fashion, which made things even greater, because he's this amazingly refined academic and I'm the girl who tripped walking into his office.

I'm also the girl who....ok, this is where it gets complicated. See, I fidget. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with all the coffee I drink, but seriously, if you could just hook the fidgeting up to a generator, we'd have even less excuse to be at war in Iraq, because we'd have no energy problem. (Ba-dum-CHHH! Come for the caffeine-induced babbeling, stay for the biting political commentary. Biting.)

So, I'm fidgeting. Usually the fidgeting involves an object, like my fingernails and my teeth, but I'm still working on that, so I was playing with a pen. A purple pen, if you'd like to picture the whole scenario in your minds. Anyway. The pen has a clicky thing on top, which is absolutely fantastic for nervous twitchers, but I'm also speaking to said prof at the time, so that's out. I thus had to be content with bending the somewhat rigid clip on the pen. Oooh look. It gets farther away...and farther away...and farther---aaaaaand it's just broken off and been catapaulted an indeterminite distance away and I don't see where it's landed. NICE.

Oh great, he probably saw that.

Erk---what if it, like, catapaulted into him? Or clipped him on the ear mid-flight.

Great.

Best-case scenario--he didn't see it happen, finds a mysterious purple piece of plastic in a distant corner of his office some weeks later.

Worst-case sceanrio--I just tagged a highly respected academic with a pen cap.

Smooth, girl. Real smooth.