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I Am An Ingrate before/after Tired and very crabby. Some of those mutants, otherwise termed "classmates", holy fuckin' shit, dude. Circus let out early. Or rather, the rodeo. Or perhaps even more appropo, the monster truck extravaganza and wrestling festival. "I'm thirty nine, and I have three kids..." "I'm forty and I have six kids..." I'm twenty seven, and I keep a close watch on where my sperm goes, so I don't get obligated into some sort of life altering, life long commitment. "Hi, I'm Argentum, and one thing you don't know about me, and couldn't tell by looking is that I don't like trite ice-breakers." Must be something about the cold midwestern winters that makes everyone fat. What the fuck, get out and walk sometime. YOU DON"T NEED THE EXTRA FOOD, PUT THE GODDAM DING-DONGS AWAY. Rediscover your toes. We had several breaks. On the first break, I walked through the cafeteria, almost running into a heavy set young woman, rushing to the snack machine to purchase junk food. She bought her stuff, and began to tear into the cellophane package like a wolverine on a four day meth binge, when she turned around and saw me watching her. A look of guilt passed over her face. What the fuck do I care? Do what you want to do, but don't feel bad about it. When you feel bad about it is WHEN YOU ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG. LISTEN TO YOUR INNER VOICES. I felt bad about attending a state college, when I could have gone just about anywhere, but this...wow. "I have eight children, and an obvious social disorder which has kept me from getting my shit together until middle age." Should call it, "School for fuckers who couldn't make it anywhere else." Whatever, as long as I get some credentials out of the deal, at rock bottom, my connections can take care of the rest. Fuck, this life is WEIRD. How did I end up here? I don't even really have that many clothes. I fled, crashed, got some help, and now I find myself in a school for the genetically gifted, (aka extra-chromosome havin' U). What the fuck? At some point, I need to reign in my life, and take some sort of responsibility for it, rather than simply waiting to die. There's just too much time to account for, and things are already strange. Crabby, crabby, crabby. I know the people who love me, generally have good intentions behind what they do, but ye gods, what have I gotten myself into this time?
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