Prepoceros

Omigosh, y’all. I’ve just learned/realized something that fills my heart with glee (to be cliché). I’m grinning as I type this.

You know the word inimitable? I’ve always thought it meant something like fabulous, esteemed, awesome, extra-special, top-of-the-heap, unique-in-a-good-way, blah di blah, right? But no, it has a more specific meaning: not capable of being imitated. And this meaning isn’t derived from some obscure mish-mash of tangled ancient roots; it’s right there in the word! Look! Inimitable!

I’m thrilled. Can you tell? Many of you probably already knew this, but I didn’t and so am now reveling in the joy of discovery. This experience ranks up there with the first time I really looked at the word remediable, the origin of which is disguised by shifted emphasis. Eeeee!

When I wake up on my own feeling well-rested and ready to get out of bed in a few minutes, and I take a few moments to enjoy this rare experience, thinking about the dreams I’ve had, snuggling with my puppy, wondering how much extra time I’ll have this morning now that I’ve woken up early . . . and then my alarm goes off.

It’s better than my usual painful wake-up routine, but still. I was all excited for a minute there, damnit.

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P.S. “Central crisis of my psyche”? That’s rich. I should write while I’m awake.

Today I turned in a lab report I hadn’t proofread* and which I knew to be in the wrong format. This unsettles me. It’s one thing to make an honest mistake or to forget something, but to turn in work I know is incorrectly presented? Disgusting.

I can’t stand to hand over something I haven’t thoroughly proofed because I don’t feel like I can “own” it. If I’ve worked carefully, then any errors that remain are actual misunderstandings or inadequacies on my part. It horrifies me to think that there might be typos, awkward sentences, or factual errors in that report that I would’ve spotted and fixed had I seen them because oh my god what if she thinks I really meant that?

Do I care what my professors think of me? Absolutely. Do I judge other people by the work they present? ALL THE TIME.

I titled this post “Perfectionism” out of a lack of imagination, but I don’t think of it that way. I call it “doing quality work.” If things can be correct and done well, then they should. Duh. Sloppiness is unacceptable.

The wrinkle in this worldview is that old bugaboo Time. In my ideal world there would be time enough to do everything perfectly, to enjoy the work and take pleasure in doing something properly. The disheartening fact that my life is finite** means that I don’t have time to do everything, go everywhere, meet everyone, read every book, explore every topic—I have to settle for doing very few things well, some things sloppily and many, many things not at all.

I think I had more to say, but I literally cannot stay awake*** and have fallen asleep sitting up three four times so far while trying to finish this.

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* Of course I read through the report before I hit ‘print,’ but because I was pressed for time (it was absolutely no-more-chances due today) I didn’t sit down and take a pen (and some serious thought) to it.

** The central, overwhelming crisis of my psyche for the last couple years and the last six months especially, if you’re new here.

*** Why can’t I go to bed on time? I was on my way to bed two hours ago, but then there was just one more thing, and one more, and one more, and now this. Really going after I post this, I swear.

Surely there’s a better title for this post, but I’m sleepy. Got home at midnight, planned to go straight to bed but didn’t for some unknown reason. Bullet points again.

• Babies
• Ice cream
• Sweater weather
• Thai food
• Pumpkin spice anything
• Socks
• Hands
• Dreams
• Coffee
• Pajama pants
• Chick-n-Minis
• Classical music
• Hugs
• Clouds
• Driving
• Layers
• Wireless internet

Okay, so I’m rather materialistic, especially when it comes to food and clothes. So I like to be snuggledy (and matchy) with yummy things to eat, is that a crime?

I should’ve gone to bed at least two hours ago (see below), so you get bullet points. It’ll probably run long; editing is for chumps/people who’ve gotten adequate sleep.

• The afternoon/evening before last I ill-advisedly drank two lattes back to back. I finally fell asleep around 6:00 and had to get up at 9:30.
• Consequently (see a few posts down) I felt great yesterday but groggy and useless most of today. I shouldn’t have been driving, for sure, but work isn’t exactly optional.
• While proctoring an LSAT this morning I realized that, in my drowsy state, I probably wouldn’t be able to do any “complex” thinking or get much homework done, so I chose to take the test* along with the students as a mini-experiment in the effects of sleep deprivation on logical thinking. (Yes, I’m a standardized-test dork. No shame here.) I expected to be slow and have difficulty concentrating, but to my surprise I finished most of the sections a few minutes early (which I rarely do). I just checked my score online, and—wonder of wonders—I pulled off a 179, my highest score to-date. (Best previous was 178.) Several times during the test I wanted desperately to lie down and drift off; I knew if I put my head down I’d be out in a second. And yet. Sleep dep makes me better at taking the LSAT? Further experimentation is required.
• While not-sleeping Thursday night I managed to work out the details of a reasonably-difficult proof for my Analysis class. I presented my proof in class on Friday (it took about fifteen minutes), and it was A HIT. Three different people came up and introduced themselves to me after class. What? Since when do math skills make one popular?** New and strange.
• I found an empty condom wrapper outside my door this morning. Surely it fell from someone’s pocket. Right? Blew out of the trash, perhaps?
• There has been a spectacular lightning show going on outside for the last three or four hours. No rain or thunder, just ten or twelve flashes a minute from all directions. Very few clouds. Intriguing.
• You know what word I don’t like? ‘Horny.’ It has an unpleasant sound to it, all nasal and face-wrinkly. Even when I type it I’m saying it in my head. Not that I type it all that often, but you know what I mean.
• Sammy wants to go out again, for the fourth time since I got home at 6:00. Sorry, puppy, mama’s sleepy as hell. Bed bed bed.

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* For me, the LSAT is not “complex” thinking. It’s hard, yes, but hard in a way that’s doable. There are rules. There are right and wrong answers. It’s clear when I’m done and, if I’m not, how far along I am. A “complex” task would involve planning or prioritizing or decision-making, all of which I’m lousy at.

** Not a rhetorical question: when the class itself is generally painful. It’s difficult to explain what a triumph this proof was without going into ranty detail I’m not prepared to share (you never know who’s reading), but let’s just say that the professor and I have differing opinions on how the class should be taught. I think most of the other students are on my side, but it’s hard to say.

Just after a baseball game, as everyone is crowding out of the stadium, a small group of* few people squeeze along the wall back out to the seats, against traffic.

Woman: Look, we’re salmon!
Man: Haha, yup. Swimming upstream.

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* Grammar edit.

I thought I could get some work done between classes. It’s such a gorgeous day that I’m sitting outside, taking advantage of the not-too-bad wireless network at school, but I’ve accomplished almost nothing in the hour I’ve been here because I’m about to explode with frustration at all the noise around me.

Must everything be so goddamn loud? Every bus that goes by, every flop of sandals or click of heels, every laugh or shout from a passerby three floors below, every rustling of paper by the girl at the next table makes me want to tear out all my hair and throw things. Dear world: SHUT. UP.

It has taken me almost twenty minutes to write these paragraphs. I have to stop every few words to clench my fists.

I should’ve gone to the library, I know. I’d be on my way there now if my next class didn’t start in fifteen minutes. If I stay here any longer, though, I might just claw my face off.

There’s been a bit of to-do* in the blogosphere following a recent NYT article on the essay portion of the new (since March 2005) SAT. The article quoted (scanned) in full three essays that had scored perfect twelves on the real test, then made a minor fuss about the “imperfections” and awkward writing.

What, then? Are these essays really the cream of the crop? Is most student writing much worse than this?** Can a 25-minute essay test on an abstract philosophical topic reasonably assess one’s writing skills? What are all these kids whining about, anyway?

Enter the Blogger SAT Challenge, created/hosted/whatever by Dave Munger and Chad Orzel. For a bunch of people who’ve been griping about students’ poor performance on what seems like a straightforward task, it’s time to put their money where their mouths are***. I won’t take the time to explain it all here; if you’re interested, go read about it for yourself. But you’ll have to do it RIGHT NOW WHILE YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT IT, as the challenge ends at midnight tonight.

Do you have what it takes to get into college (all over again)? Prove it. Take the challenge and find out just how short 25 minutes really is.

[Full disclosure: I’m one of the graders. Mwahahaha. Don’t worry, it’s all anonymous.]
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* Good blog etiquette would demand that I include actual links here and not just wave my hands at some vague discussion out in cyberspace. My body, on the other hand, demands that I get enough sleep tonight.

** Um, ‘fraid so. Don’t get me started.

*** This sounds horrible, but the “their” is actually plural (i.e., not the singular “their” that really means “his or her”).

P.S. Arrrrrrrgh! I’ve missed Talk Like a Pirate Day AGAIN. This is what happens when you go to a less-than-quirky college. (Is there an adjective that means “mainstream” or “popular,” but in a pejorative sense? I can’t think of one.)

My friend’s dog was put to sleep today, so I feel kind of lame talking about myself, but really is there *ever* an appropriate time to ramble on about the minutiae of my daily life for hundreds of words? That’s what I thought—nothing new here. Anyway, we’re not going to dwell on the doggy. RIP, Brutus.

This morning on my way to school I stopped by Starbucks, ordered a pumpkin spice* latte, paid for it…and left it on the counter. I didn’t notice until I started to pull out of the parking space. Way to go, Einstein.

This afternoon I came home early to work on my next lab report and ended up catching up on all the procrastination I’ve been neglecting lately. I know a couple days ago I said I was behind on all my blog-reading and video-watching, but I’m behind no longer!

I was even planning to make a visit to Barnes & Noble this evening in order to avoid doing or thinking about my lab report, but I kept putting it off and putting it off so long that eventually it was too late to be worth leaving the apartment at all. I procrastinated my procrastination, y’all. That’s mighty sad.

I was going to get started after I’d worn myself out internetting, but around 6 or 7-ish a couple things started happening fast on YouTube and I got caught up in it. Blah. Now it’s bedtime.

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* It’s back! O joyous season! I had a whole post to write about this, but it was one of those that was all done out in my head and has yet to make it into type.

Over the last few years I’ve noticed that moderate-to-severe sleep deprivation takes about 36 hours to work its magic. The first day after an all-nighter or a short night is usually okay—I feel a little “off” most of the day, and my sense of time is useless, but I have plenty of energy and am able to work and think clearly.

But the SECOND day…oy. The sleep dep train hits me like a ton of bricks. Or, I suppose, like a train, which would actually be worse. (Can you tell which day today is?)

The night before last (see below) I got four hours of sleep, less than half of what I usually need to wake up rested and ready to seize the day. Yesterday I was fine. I taught LSAT in the morning and tutored Calculus in the afternoon, and both sessions went quite well. I did spend most of the evening feeling all emo, though. A well of anger boiled up in me from somewhere* and I raged and ranted about various and sundry things to the walls of my apartment and on walks with Sammy for a couple hours. I was going to make a video “about my feelings,” but luckily I realized how boring that would be and fell asleep on the couch instead.

Today, on the other hand, I was hardcore sleep-deprived, even though I put in a solid eight-ish hours last night. I tutored one lesson in the morning and one in the evening, and for the few hours I spent at home in between I was woozy and more or less out of it. It would’ve been nice if I could’ve gotten some work done in that time, the biggest chunk of free time I had all weekend, but I was good for little besides snuggling with my puppy and watching the interweb go by.

When I’m sleep-deprived I also tend to eat the most ridiculous things**, often to the point of making myself sick. Today the girl at Sonic recognized me on my second visit of the day, and when I stopped by Starbucks on the way to my evening lesson because I “needed” caffeine***, I forwent a drink and instead picked up a brownie AND a cookie. Two desserts? Wtf?

I should also note that I left the apartment TWENTY MINUTES EARLY (plus the time I spent at Starbucks, so closer to thirty) for that lesson because I didn’t know how long it would take to get there and didn’t think to look it up. If you know me, you’ll recognize this as a sign of my being completely cracked out. I would never do anything like that while “sober.”

Does this happen to anyone else, this second-day effect? I’m very aware of it by now, yet it still takes me by surprise every damn time. It’d be funny if I didn’t have shit that needed to get done.

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* I don’t lose my temper; this is how. It takes a lot to make me angry, and when I do get mad, I take that anger and bottle it up. I work it out later on my own in imaginary conversations, figuring out exactly what it is that I’m pissed about so that I won’t say anything I don’t mean if I ever decide to share those feelings. It’s a good system, I think.

** I’ve noticed a strong negative correlation between my weight and how much sleep I tend to be getting (on timescales of several months, of course). Example: I’ve gotten significantly slimmer over the last six months or so, which I credit not to my eating healthier food at mealtimes but to my having gotten a decent amount of sleep, on average, resuting in many fewer sleep-dep-induced binges. (No, I don’t have an eating disorder—I just “eat stupid” sometimes.)

*** Have I discussed this already? I think it’s still in draft form. Anyway, the feeling that I “need” caffeine disturbs me, even though at this point it’s more social convention than physiological addiction that tells me when I should stop for coffee. I sense a trend, though, and it’s not pretty.