Today after my tuba lesson (and going to Fedex Kinkos [now Fedex Office] to get some senior pictures printed) I decided to head up to the library at ISU to see if I could find a copy of 'Repent Harlequin," The Ticktockman Said. I know that Obeler is a research Library, but I thought that there might be a chance to find it there.
I climbed to the second floor, and the computers were non-responsive. I pressed buttons and wiggled mice. Finally, I rebooted one just to see what would happen. It came up with a message saying that the computer was in maintenance mode and the Keyboard and mouse would be non-responsive. I walked up to the third floor and every computer had the same message. I thought about asking one of the people that work there, but decided not too (I am trying to decide if this might be a symptom of the agoraphobia that my hypochondriac mind is telling me that I am developing).
My mom told me that I had to get a haircut today before leaving Pocatello, but I was feeling a little peckish by the time I was leaving ISU, so I decided to drive down Yellowstone until I found a fast food place that I was in the mood for. I finally settled for McCorporateWhore. I meant to order a 1/4 pounder with Cheese meal, number 5, but when I spoke into drive-thru pillar I slipt and said "I'd like a number 6." Number 6 is a double 1/4 pounder. Then as she asked whether I would like a medium sized meal or a large I said Large. I didn't mean to. It just happened.
I found myself with a much larger meal than I had anticipated. But I figured that I might as well take advantage of the situation and eat as much of it as I could. As I approached the end of the burger and fries something in me was telling me that it would be a terrible waste to leave the last several bites uneaten. Meanwhile I was listening to the head director of the FDA from the H. W. Bush and Clinton years talking about how fatty, salty and sugary foods change brain chemistry and become, in essence, addictive on Fresh Air with Terry Gross (on NPR. . . Here is A link to the Article on the NPR website). My life is a cute fluffy rodent named Irony.
So I went into the walk-in unisex haircutting facility that I have been frequenting lately (I have trust issues--when I was little I once had the clipper guard break midswipe, leaving a nice bald rectangle on the back of my head--so getting haircuts lately from a different person every time is kind of tough) and they told me I had a 30 minute wait. "Alright, I'll just work on some reading for government," I said to myself. I sat down and realized that I was very cold. I didn't have a sweater (Odd, I know). I started shivering. . . I am not sure if I was just feeling the effects of all of the blood rushing to my stomach to aid digestion or if I was suffering shock from the sudden influx of fat and sodium into my body or some combination of both.
I have a really horrible time making small talk with hairdressers, especially ones that I don't know. . . yet another reason why I have been having a hard time going to these crappy walk-in place. I just start zoning-out as they cut and I have a very hard time communicating exactly what I want done with my hair. The clip number system just doesn't translate real well into reality for my mind, leading me to almost always get it cut a touch shorter than I actually want it. This in turn leads some people to remark that I have an uncanny resemblance (sometimes just physically other times both physically and in character) to Sheldon Cooper on CBS's Big Bang Theory. Hmmm.
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