Well, since some jerk apparently read in one of these journals random bits of my personal plans involving large amounts of Spam and thought it would be funny to order said large amount of Spam to be delivered to my door, I have to re-think my plan. The Spam portion of it very much involved ensuring that I not be traceable in any way whatsoever to the presence of a very large amount of Spam.
So the plan is back on the drawing table, with a few modifications and additions, and I shall not be revealing any of it to anyone, although that means I had best stay away from alcohol for the immediate present. This is normally a problem, since I count on the solace of booze to numb my deep anger and frustration at life's everyday idiocies in the tradition of college students around the globe, but I find it to be less of a problem when I'm in the planning stages of something. My brain is sharp and clear and frustrations that would normally attach themselves to my nerves, gnawing like rabid weasels, somehow don't seem worth caring about. This never lasts, of course. It yields into the blissful oblivion of success when it comes to fruition, but that eventually dries up and blows away, revealing the dark, hard core of truth in my brain, sensitive to changes in mood and emotional temperature, and what little patience and tolerance I've maintained evaporate and I return to my normal cold, bitter self, attacking all and sundry who dare draw near.
Which by that time comes as quite a relief, I must say. I was not born to be a likeable man.
I dumped most of the Spam off on various shelters and charities around the metroplex. At least some good will come out of this: I shall be able to write a large amount of charity off my taxes next year. Ha bloody ha.
And don't think you can get away with it forever. I have Ways and Means of tracking pricks like you down, and you can bet that sooner or later you'll hear a knocking at your door, and ... but no. That would be telling. I find my victims' terrified anticipation to be one of life's greatest pleasures.
The perfect start to the perfect day does *NOT* start with FedEx dumping a ton of SPAM in your living room. Literally. i'm not talking about mail circulars or offers for low interest rate credit cards, either. I mean 6 gross of canned SPAM. From the Hormel company.
Unfortunately, there was no return shipping information. Well, there was, but it turned out to be bogus. The address was a phoney, and the tlephone number was to a homeless shelter in WInnepeg. I need to find out who sent me this lovely fucking gift so that I can return the fucking favor in style.
I hate SPAM.
I have found out two thing. Amazingly, both good.
The first thing is perhaps the best. I had a little conversation with my advisor and department head concerning the state of my classes, my graduation, and its continued delay. While they can't just give me the degree, they are willing to work with me. They said that if I do full-tiem research for the department for the remainder of the summer as well as both regular semesters this coming school year, they will forgive the traditional graduation requirments and allow me to graduate with a "modified" degree. Normally I loathe the tyep of research involved, but given the track record I've recently had while tryign to graduate, I feel this is my best shot at getting out of here. I merely need to alter the work agreement to allow me to keep intelectual control of my findings, and I'll be set.
The second thing I've discovered is that Beecher is finally taking his studies seriously. It seems that he has spent the last month or so studying for his upcoming classes. I can only hope that he does better this coming year than he did last year. Given that last year he spent most of his time goofing off, this change seems to be for the better. It'll be interesting to see if he can maintain this attitude. Sadly, I have to admit he may not be able to. He is, after all, Beecher.