I have finally broken through that mad crest of exhaustion that comes after a full night of rock-like sleep. Perhaps because of this rotten Disease I spend more time than most people actively thinking about my health, and several solid hours of sleep every night seems essential to maintain a proper Balance in one's life. But the rest of the kids around me behave like goddamned Vampires, escewing the light of day for the security of night; I would not be surprised if it had something to do with the way low lighting and alcohol at the right levels can make anyone into a Prom Queen. It must be easier to deal with the disappointment of your waking life if at night you can disappear into someone other than yourself.
For the first time in a long, long time however I feel like a creature of the Night. I could go four more hours on this strange rush if I had something worth my time to do, but all there is is this glowing screen and a keyboard that sits innocently in front of it like a doormat that I need to wipe my paws on before entering the house.
I don't know for sure about this girl. It seems like a novel and legitimate enterprise - a cute philosophy major inviting discussion on many topics? My roommates have asked me if there exist in real life versions of the hot/smart idealised women of SitCom stock, and I have answered "yes." I knew two of them in my high school, one a questioning Calvinist, the other too perfect to be real (only she was, and I waited ten years to ask her out. Too late). The third I had the chance to spend the day with, completely by accident, several years ago. She was a friend of my cousin Blaze, who was invited to ride roller coasters at an Amusement Theme Park with myself and my sis Aisling. Blaze and Aisling ran off together, which left me with The Girl. Quite aside from being gorgeous by any measure, she could talk and listen and we did just that for a number of hours that I soon lost track of. The experience was so rare and so right that I have never been sure that it actually happened, and of course I've not seen her again.
At any rate, there's been some speculation that the pictures on Amandas site are really some dudes friend, and he's writing all these posts as a social experiment on nerdy 'net dwellers. Based solely on the responses she's given, I doubt that's true, but there are plenty of effeminant guys out there that could pass for gals if you only heard them speak. Shit, did I spell that correctly? Her site also drives home the fact that in nearly two years I've not gotten a single email about anything I've written here, but this is because I am a social cripple and I have no problems with that. Which should make tomorrow's Naval Ball all the more interesting - did you know that the difference between Dinner Dress Blues and Service Dress Blues is a bow tie? I'm not wearing that thing on a bus...
Also in Navy News, CNET (wait, it's NETC now, which is obviously a better acronym and therefore a better department) has decided that Navy Midshipmen will no longer be required to PT with their unit. No more motivating runs, no more daily sevens led by the senior chief, no more Gunny Fun Days hauling uprooted trees and five-inch mooring lines across a football field. This will be good for those who are Motivated, and bad for those who are Not, because the winners will keep themselves in shape through determination while the floppy ones will turn to fat and fail their next Physical Readiness Test.
Marines, however, are still subject to the whims of the Gunny, and in a sick strange way I'm jealous. The Disease has prevented me from doing much PT with the unit anyways, and we'll still be mustered in the gym at 0600 for whatever sort of activity the company CO's can come up with that doesn't count as "exercise." But some of that shared pain will be missing.
And yes, that was a nice long post. Count it as Content, and move on.