#WTF: Kevin's Kephalonomancy is Kontagious
Friday, September 23, 2011 at 11:53AM<editorsnote> Nerds, meet Kevin. I found him on craigslist, kinda like how I found that half eaten bag of pretzels, and last Friday's booty call. Casual encounters, FTW! He's hilarious, and smart ... and little elves dance in his footprints as he walks. For the record, I've made two of those facts up. </editorsnote>
#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Kevin Herman
I’m sitting for the LSAT on October 1st, and this means a number of things for both my social and physical health. Actually, it’s less a “number of things” and more just “general rapid deterioration with a side of cosmic fuck you.”
When it’s deemed crunch time, I turn into a single-minded mass of sparsely clothed flesh that is incapable of making any kind of real decision about anything because that would require diverting cognitive resources I (have at least deluded myself into believing) can’t do without for the task at hand. I subscribe to the Robocop School of Achievement, wherein one simply keeps walking through explosions and walls of gunfire until a task is complete because fuck it, I’ll tend to my numerous hundred injuries (read: SWEET BATTLE DAMAGE!) afterwards.
That said, usually the stars align in my favor and limit the amount of damage I sustain/have to deal with later, but this time around - and with the stakes arguably much, much higher - the stars seem to have formed an astrological dick on my forehead, or at the very least the asshole Gemini twins teabagging an astral projection of me.
Basically, up until about two weeks ago I was just sort of rocking a fairly healthy “dicking around” and “studying” equilibrium - then I took a practice test on which I didn’t do as well as I’d have liked and with only two weeks left ‘til d-day, my brain declared a state of emergency and locked down into stress mode. Since then, I’ve been laid out with the cold and some unspecified bacterial overlay/fever for a few days (the aftermath of which I’m still fighting/coughing unceremoniously into the toilet), have developed an ulcer, have abruptly found myself unqualifiedly and very single (which did manage to slightly breach my emotional embargo), discovered that one of the uber-cool chicks I was taken with on OKCupid (before I lost my shit and killed my account without a word of explanation) is now a budding pornstar who is in at least superficial contact with Misti Dawn no less (this definitely doesn’t count as a “bad thing” per se so much as something that normally would at least cause me to do a lecherous double take and lose my stride momentarily), have generally neglected my social life I’m sure to its minor irritation that it’ll no doubt make me pay for once I come bouncing back pretending like nothing happened, and am generally dreaming in multiple choice now. That could just be residual fever talking, though.
It’s actually not so bad. It could be much worse. And I still wouldn’t really notice, such is the nature of my mental stress-override. Would Robocop let an ulcer stop his dispensation of 9mm justice? No! Because he’s dead inside like me. Either way, be it an ulcer or missing limb, it’s basically all the same until the lockdown lifts and I’m forced to actually deal with it come 2pm, October 1st.
The thing that sucks, though, is that the same mechanism numbing me to any unpleasantries also precludes me from appreciating anything good/awesome - both present and future. My parents are going on vacation for a spell, something that rarely happens and when it does normally calls for some sort of hurrah/major decompression/relaxation, because my parents’ house is amazing and being its sole occupant is the kind of thing that intoxicates with (imagined) power - as it stands, I am fresh out of fucks to give. It changes nothing, at least until the moment I leave the testing room (at which point - HAYYYYYYY LADIES. HAYYYYYYYY. OH HAYYYYYY!). A number of threads leading to potentially fruitful, excellent friendships and indeed, entirely new social circles have dangled about - all they require is a little coaxing and attention on my part, which until this test is over I’m frustratingly unwilling or unable to give - and I’m just kind of idly hoping in the back of my head that said threads patiently bear with my shit and stick around a little over a week.
But just because I’ve been buckling down doesn’t mean I haven’t prepared at all for the instant my pencil hits the desk and I start evacuating all knowledge LSAT from my sore brain. My delicious Fall TV lineup kicks off the day after (Dexter, Homeland, House, etc.), a tiny pile of video games jiggling their proverbial digi-boobs and promising countless hours of fun has been accumulating (studiously ignored until the floodgates lift - I am the rotund king of delayed gratification), and an even bigger pile of graphic/non-graphic novels has likewise been waiting for test’s end to fight over my soon-to-be vacant psyche with the rest of the mindless-ish entertainment.
But I don’t care. Or more accurately can’t care. I’ve tried. I’ve hovered over the aforementioned piles - sometimes in the nude - and waited for something resembling a spark of excitement, and nothing. My mind invariably snaps its fingers and says something stupid like “hey, instead of standing nude in a dark room over inert plastic cases, you should probably work on your reading comp or logic games. And put some clothes on.” People keep asking me about plans post-test and I can verbally express what I want or intend to do, but I can’t actually imagine any of it happening, nor render any decisions regarding them - as far as my mind’s concerned, time stops when the test does. This October 2nd you speak of? Haven’t heard of it. Isn’t real. And for the same reason, all the TV, video games, and other cool shit isn’t exciting so much as a single electron in m’body because I can’t mentally grasp actually using any of it right now.
Fuck, I actually was asked to give a really brief talk at my alma mater on Monday morning about a psych paper I wrote (that I think I mentioned many posts back) and haven’t yet brought myself to figure out what I’m even going to say. Poops.
Oh...oh dear. I’ve said too much and been away from t3h books too long. They’ll come looking. They’ll hit me! Either way, yeah - Robocop. That’s the moral. Or something.
Oh. Right. Parfaits. I’ve realized I fucking love parfaits. They are the omega-shit. They are my torch in the present darkness, providing light, warmth, and...something to watch since I’ve forsaken TV at the moment.
Okay, that settles it - back to studying - but first, I need a little yogurt, granola, honey, and strawberry up inzzzz. Ta.
PS - Mr. Kellett, the house-sitting I talked about actually conclusively kills any indecision I had about going to Vegas the night of the 1st. Which really sucks, because in lieu of recent circumstances, there’s nothing I’d rather do more. Sorrrrrry brooo!
