aPATHETIC

I finished my first three days of evening classes yesterday. Today, about two hours ago, I hopped online to do whatever assignments are due for this week for my four credit online class (of which 100 points are possible). Most of the time, online assignments are due each Sunday, as they are in this class. However, there were some beginning assignments due on Tuesday. Opps, missed those. They equaled about seven to eights points. Therefore, I am already at an A-. I want an A, so I can’t loose any more points the rest of the semester. Joy. I have A’s in every single grad class I have taken, except the online law course in which I got a B+ (Even Judge Judy could not have gotten an A in this class, let’s pretend that means something, ok?) I should have gasped (or whatever is the butch, masculine equivalent), gotten angry, and felt some guilt (remember the blog about wasting time?). Strangely, I simply looked at the screen and went, “huh.” I went ahead and completed the assignments, one was a one page power point describing myself and the other was a survey asking what my feelings were towards an online class—easy points, if done on time. I am sure it will do no good, but I turned them in anyway. I am nothing if not a kiss-ass.
This was a confirmation of something I have been suspecting the past couple days. I am apathetic. I don’t care. I am sitting on my front porch swing, Dunkyn asleep by my side, as per normal, my legs are cramped, I have on dirty underwear, my hair looks like shit, I need to go check on financial aid, make a dentist appointment, and right now there is a raccoon chewing on my foot—the first three toes are gone and he is quickly finishing off the fourth. I don’t care. (There is not really a raccoon, but wouldn’t that be great! I have always wanted a baby raccoon, or penguin. Or a seal.) I just got my garage finished. The boards on the ceiling are not stained the color I asked for, and the floor, which was supposed to be a warm, inviting amber glow, in now poop brown. I don’t care. Alias was canceled last season. Macaroni Grill quit carrying my favorite nachos in the world. Thousands of unsuspecting pregnant mothers are gulping in cigarette after cigarette and downing jugs of whiskey, mutilating their unborn spawn. Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. Ricky Marin is daydreaming about me right now. Don’t care. Well. . . maybe just a little. . .
I hope this apathy does not last very long. It is not my normal state of being, it is a little disconcerting. My theory is that my feelings and emotions have been on a heightened state of crisis (Amber Alert anyone, quick, Bush, start a war!) for the past two and a half months (what with the self-introspection, crying, questioning, weeping, angst, sobbing) and accidentally blew a fuse. Pop! Just like that. Wonder how long this will last?
Truth be told, I should take advantage of this situation. I should drop out of school. I should rob a bank. I should buy a convertible Mini-Cooper (steel blue). I should go on a whore-my-brains-out campaign. I should take a little trip back to Missouri and tell off those who tormented me with the word “Faggot” in high school what a pissed off queen can do. After all, I don’t care. No guilt. Of course, if my emotion fuse ever gets reset, I will have no degree, have to hide from the bank police, have a smorgasbord of STDs, and have useslessly pissed off a bunch of Missouri folk, all causing my fuse to flip again. Of course, I would have a really fun little car. Maybe it would be worth it. . .