classes

Somedays you just want to erase everything and start over. This was not one of those days. This was one of those weeks. Actually not at all- it would be for most people I guess, but I have come to see the merit in my floundering.
**If entirely uninterested in science I would skip to the asterisk**
In organic chemistry lab the other day, we were doing what was supposed to be a pleasantly short and easy experiment involving vacuum filtration of some impure aniline. So I went along at a steady pace and all was going well. I then spilled half my sample, but you know what, I can live with a ridiculously low yeild. No problem. I also took about 30 minutes longer than I had to, because while I was waiting for what seemed to be a disfunctional vacuum to do its job, I could have connected the hose to the aspirator. But no, I didn't check that part, and instead waited while what was supposed to be vacuum filtration filtered in through gravity. The TA eventually came by and laughed after he saw the unhooked hose.
**Basic idea of the previous story: I am a retard.**
In Organic chemistry lecture, I am just constantly reminded of the thin line separating genius and insanity. My professor is assuredly the first, and seems to cross that line and dip heavily into the crazy side of things every once in a while. I am quite convinced that he does not sleep or shower except when absolutely necessary. I also speculate that when he does decide to sleep, it is most defnintely in one of his labs at school. He does, after all, have his own little wing in the chemistry building.
That, however, is not what tipped me off to possible insanity. I think it was the wide-eyed, mad scientist aura he exudes when he can't help but contain his ferverent excitement in dealing with organic molecules. In lecture he shoots these looks-I try desperately to avoid eye contact, because when he catches you it is over. That is it. His eyes get wide, and the thin lopsided grin curls onto his sleepless face wreathed in long greasy unwashed hair. And everything about that look draws you in and you can't look away. It is like when people can't draw their eyes from the very things that disturb them most. Despite this, I love him. One of the best professors I have ever had. Maybe it is exactly what makes him so good- he is entirely absorbed in what he does. I guess I can't blame him for being a tad insane- his life's work deals with things he can't see. It would drive me nuts too.
After leaving the lair of chemistry, I head to history with another of the best professors at A&M. A young Brit straight out of Oxford, Bickham is wonderfully informative and entertaining. The best part of it is that he lives up to his British accent and mannerisms by wearing tweed coats and such- as every good Englishman should. This is in the Texas summer heat, remember. I would not be surprised if the button up shirts underneath are long sleeved too. I always feel terrible in that class, for as interesting and funny as he is, I am always drowsy. I can't explain it, but something always gets me. The worst part is that I had him last semester for an equally interesting senior level course which consisted of only 15 people and almost all discussion. Unfortunately the same narcoleptic tendencies haunted me then as well. He ALWAYS caught me. Every time I would come to the realization that my eyes had been closed much to long to be considered a blink, I would fling them open only to find him looking straight at me. I took another class from him determined this time to prove that I really did find him interesting, but of course the same thing happens this year. I have tried desperately to prevent it with all sorts of methods. Generally stabbing myself with my mechanical pencil brings me out of my haze somewhat, but I have found that inflicting pain only works for brief periods. There is a good chance that he holds an irrepresible bitterness for me somewhere in his being because even in a class of 300, he still catches me with my eyes closed.

If you were here
first thing I'd do
is knock you down
you left me cold
to meet your ghost
all over town

so grind the stone
spin the wheel
lock the doors
on what you feel
looking back, it's like I always knew...
~David Gray

Para ti... Ze, mi inspiracion. Deseo que podría ser diferente. Su honradez es increíble, pero deseo a veces que no sabía la verdad. me haces falta. te echo de menos.

Deseo sabía qué pensar y qué para conocerme
deseo que podría vivir esa manera
en seguridad de sabiduría **

Echoes of footsteps linger, because I opened the doors to these unseen halls once. So imprints of the visitor remain. The steps taken inside were carved with permanence, and now the shape of him serves to make the feel of anyone else uncomfortable. For now, anyway. Thankfully I am not encumbered by the past. What was is not the problem. The problem arises when the what is combines with the what will be prematurely. That is why he doesn't fit in right now. Not comfortably. There just needs to be time to stretch out again.


**What I meant for that to mean:
I wish I knew what to think and what to know
I wish I could live that way
In assurance of wisdom