I'm having trouble writing, mainly because my day left me with no coherent impression and I don't feel that I can simply resort to adding up a bunch of events every day, in order to make a log entry. Well, whatever.

The whole day was basically just the world's effort to boost my spirits after Calculus. I'm fine in the class; I get what's going on and I do fine on the tests, but for some reason I can't express myself in there; I'm always wrong, or confusing, or what's worse I'll garble something so badly that I don't even know what I meant.

I have nothing to contribute, and therefore I suppose I should contribute nothing, but it's hard to remain silent for an entire class period. And, of course, The Vain Man is the perfect teacher's pet, although he didn't annoy me as much today.

So after the humiliation of not knowing a harmonic series from a convergent series (which, for some reason, those punk class of '04 high school kids in my class found amusing. Well, at least I can drive, I guess.) I had to rebuild my ego.

Thankfully the world was helpful. My next two classes were good, although The Diplomat and The Feminist monopolized the conversation in Freshman Studies to some degree. The only real downside was when The Diplomat, who knows full well that I too was in debate, tried to answer my rhetorical, discussion-encouraging question about Frankenstein's moral obligation by explaining Utilitarianism to me.

Gah! And it's called Negative Utilitarianism, by the way. He wasn't deciding how to distribute medicine or fresh-baked cookies, he was preventing murders. Anyways, I was annoyed, but it's impossible to get mad at The Diplomat.

The Feminist also lifted my spirits, observing that my question didn't have a definite answer.

Then again, the discussion isn't mine to manage; I'm just another student, and it would have done fine without a question I obviously asked just to look intelligent.

I sat with a girl at lunch who can't eat things with nuts in them, or she dies. She carries around a needle with some sort of peanut anti-venom or something in it, in case something she eats has a nut. She was suprisingly popular and cool, for someone with such a ludicrous affliction.

You don't stab it into her chest though, like with an adrenaline shot; all her friends knew to stab her in the thigh, in an emergency.

I talked to a lot of people at lunch, in fact, that I hadn't spoken with in quite some time, maybe months, which was really cool. Of course, it tells you how exciting weekday nights are around here, when I can say that my day peaked around one in the afternoon.

Also, I now know that John Gordon and Jeff Gordon are/were different people, after a hilariously stupid mix-up. Well, maybe it wasn't that hilarious. But surely stupid.

At least I didn't mix up Jeff Gordon, NASCAR super-star, and Dale Earnhardt, that guy who died saving all those lovable orphans from certain death.

Is it too early to make jokes about Dale Earnhardt's death? How about Princess Di? What's the socially acceptable period of time that must pass before I can make jokes about the tragic deaths of these infinitely important people?

Ah, that was a moronic segway. As you can see by the quality of my writing, I'm exhausted. Goodnight.