Pranks

There seems to be a person(s) out there who has nothing better to do 'round about midnight a couple days of the week. Rather than conducting his or her own life in the best way that he or she knows how, he or she picks up his or her phone and dials my home number.

Either Cornelia or myself answer the phone with a polite "hello?" He or she says nothing. And then we hang up. Sometimes we get only one call, and other times we get up to five within a timespan of 30 minutes or so.

Cornelia is a little more freaked out about it than I am. The other day she implored me to *69. "It costs money," I said in protest. "I'll pay for it." So I *69ed (an interesting verb I must say). It's a private number. Go figure. We just got another one. Or, I should say, I just got another one because I'm alone here now.

As long as the idiot doesn't say "I'm calling from inside the house." At that point, I think I'd have to piss all over myself.

Today was strange. I went to class and suffered through some guy's unhealthy need for attention. I like my attention but I don't feel the need to respond to every fucking thing the teacher says.This guy name drops with the best of the New School students, disagrees with the teacher, is always first to give his opinion and, well, I just don't like him too much. The worst thing is I don't even think he's going after a degree. I think he just paid for the class. I was out front talking to a friend after class and another guy in my class interrupted us to ask me what I thought of the readings we did for tonight. Then he told me that he was thinking of dropping the class. He asked me if I had heard of all the people mentioned in the articles and was following along with what this guy said. I told him I didn't, and I told him not to drop the class, because of this guy. We have to get in groups, so I told him to sit on the other side of the room next week. Although next week will be a bit different because Christopher Hitchens will be there.

I've heard so much about this guy that I'm interested in seeing for myself finally what he's all about. He's lecturing on Orwell. And I have to read Homage to Catalonia by Tuesday. We shall see how that goes. It looks like I will be getting some money in October from that freelance gig. Sure, it's August's payment, but I guess it's better than never. I have come up with a solution to my money woes and it doesn't have anything to do with selling my body. Not that that would help. But I'm just going to pay myself back. Because I know everyone cares, I will continue. I'm going to get some money next week, but that's all spoken for -- rent and bills through January. From that, I have decided to take the freelance money that I will be missing. I will simply pay it back when/if I finally get the freelance. Got it? I felt a wee bit better after I wrapped my brain around that plan. After class, I went to a cafe with a friend. We were supposed to study for the GRE, but my mind couldn't have been farther from that. I am second-guessing my decision to apply to Ph.D. programs, and that's pretty much what we talked about. My horoscope in this week's Time Out New York fittingly suggested that I not make any decisions and that things may seem strange now. Apparently the sun is in Pisces and fire and water don't work well together. Whatever. Despite my astrological state of being, I am in the midst of quite a struggle over it. I have an unfortunate "plan-o-holic" trait that is always making me think. Think. Think. Think. Of the future, the present, the past. And not necessarily in that order. So, the future is on my mind. All I know is that I love my apartment and want to stay in it. Will Cornelia stay? I don't know. Maybe. So that's all I know. I'm going to try and keep it that way. Let the chips fall where they may. Let fate take over. Look to the stars. And study for the GRE, I guess. But if my heart's not in it, should I do it? I know my heart's in academia, but it's what comes after that I'm not sure about. Teaching. I liken this decision to when I tried out for the Chico St. softball team. I was walking down the hall in the P.E. building and was stopped by the softball coach. He asked me if I played. I responded in the affirmative, "for 14 years." He then told me to try out. "Well, ok." So I did. For three weeks, I worked out with the team, discovered my muscle tone, even got into a little bit of shape. Then I discovered I was going to make the team. I was going to be the second catcher. So I quit. "Why?" you might be asking. The main reason I quit was because we didn't receive units to play. So I would have been taking 12 units of class and have to practice three hours a day on top of that. The sacrifice wasn't worth it to me. I didn't love it like the other women did and I felt that wouldn't be fair to the team. Although my decision to pursue or not pursue a doctorate has nothing to do with a team, I believe that if my heart isn't in becoming a professor, fighting with pseudo intellects over banal points day in and day out, trying to prove myself to people who ultimately don't care about me, is it worth it? Is spending over $100 that I don't really have right now to register for the GRE something I'm willing to do? I realize I'm the only one who knows the answers. I just want to be absolutely sure. But perhaps no one can be completely sure about some things. I'm going to stop torturing those of you still with me on this subject. It's 12:30 now. I have to try to get to school by 11 tomorrow because a few of us are going to go see Jim Miller about our classes. There is an epidemic in the GF: the undergrads are invading. My social movements class contains 32 people. More than half of them are undergrads. If I wanted to take classes with undergrads, I'd go get another B.A. This isn't cool. And my class isn't the only one. There are a couple of others that have more than 15 undergrads. So we're going to complain. Hopefully officially. So I'm going to go outside in the chilly temperatures under the full moonlight to smoke a clove and read a little more about Uncle Tom and his cabin. I must say Ms. Stowe is a bit annoying with her narration and characterization. But I'm only on page 45, so I'm going to reserve further judgment until I at least reach the 100-page mark.