Finished my plan, I didn’t turn it in yet. Perhaps I should. Attempted to leave the library, and the library lady (not Barbara, an old lady) said, in response to the “it’s not cool to love Jesus” sticker on my briefcase: “He loves you.” Vaguely purturbed, I replied, “It’s your opinion, and you have the right to it.” My back hurts from carrying all my stuff around. I need to go back to my chiropractor, it’s been five months since I’ve gone to him. And my back is getting worse. Well anyway, that Deanna character accosted me in the student lounge, I hadn’t burned her CD yet. I don’t know why I loathe her, I just do. Earlier in the library, Molly came in and talked to me, I got to rave about the book she got me, which I would be reading right now if I were home, like I should be. Went to see if Molly was in her office, her door wasn’t open so I went in the Drift Office to blog. Eh, Amy does her homework in here, it couldn’t be that bad to blog. And it’s raining, so I have nowhere to go. I would be sitting outside on a bench, comfortably reading, but no: the evil rain destroys all attempts at fun. My back really hurts and I want to go home. I think I’m going to put my paper in Mr. Letko’s box and go into the library and read. If that old lady tries to prosyletize me again, I’m going to be very angry. And maybe I’ll knock on Molly’s door. Oh, Tawna gave me this cool pentagram thingy! I have the perfect chain for it at home. I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow.
Posting resources for my research paper…I’ve already printed out too much stuff.
www.dodig.osd.mil/audit/reports/fy00/00101sum.htm report
http://www.bliss.army.mil/fort%20bliss%20info/jag/Criminal%20Law/Homosexual%20Training%20-%20Info%20paper.htm
http://sill-www.army.mil/JAG/ADLAW%20PAGE/Fact%20sheets/homosexual%20Conduct%20Policy%20FAQ–Jan00.htm
http://www.davidclemens.com/gaymilitary/britend.htm
http://dir.salon.com/news/feature/2000/06/06/officers/index.html
http://www.davidclemens.com/gaymilitary/aussienoprob.htm
The Journalism chick left, and the librarian returned to her post, so I signed in to use the ASC (the inner computer sanctum). I’m writing my plan for my position paper, but my teacher is really vague in what he wants. I’m going to try my best, and then later when he’s in his office ask him exactly what he wants. Could he be more vague? This is the assignment for the plan:
A. a focused presentation of the issue
B. a clear position
C. plausible reasons and convincing support (how many reasons will you use? what types of support will you use?)
D. identify opposing positions
Um….I could do an interpretive song and dance to accomplish this. What does he want? An outline? Some kind of ersatz rough draft? Why can’t he be a better teacher? God.
Well anyway, I’m sitting in the library at one of the computers on the exterior public alcove. I wanted to go into the inner sanctum, but I saw that one chick from Journalism and I wanted to sit near her. Now I can’t do what I wanted to do, because I need the private, quiet room to collect my thoughts. I’d move in there, but I’d feel like I’m abandoning her. So I’m stuck. They’re putting up these quilts, it’s the strangest thing. They have this HUGE ladder. I kind of want to take it home. It’d be like a really tall treehouse. I think I’m going to go into the inner sanctum: I shouldn’t be here anyway. I should be at home, cuddled in my bed with my lamp on, just about finished with The Stranger, as the twilight grows into daylight. But no. I’m stuck in this artificial light. This simulation of light, this flourescent haze. The librarian lady seems busy putting up the quilts. I can’t bother her. And there are no classes Fridays, this place is usually dead. I might as well start on my assignment.
I must relate this disturbing occurrence that transpired while I was migrating. I had to go to the bathroom, so I left my stuff in the office and walked to the bathroom. It was when I got there that I realized: there was someone in the other stall. In the handicapped stall. At once, my level of anxiety skyrocketed. Some stranger is going to be in the same room while I go to the bathroom? It just seemed fundamentally wrong, and the more I thought about it, the more anxious I became. I couldn’t go to the bathroom for the life of me. And now I don’t feel like I have to go at all. Strangers. They make me anxious.
