Well that’s odd…

When I’m at someone’s house and want to show them a picture on my site, I usually just google my name, knowing that the first result is my page, and that doing that is easier than typing in this convoluted URL. Much to my surprise, when I tried this yesterday at Bryan’s, it didn’t work. I hadn’t just dropped in the ranks of google, I’d disappeared completely from the list. Hopefully this is the just a freak coincidence related to the recent MyDoom worm making its rounds on the CS servers (I couldn’t send email the other day either) and not the first hint of something far more sinister.

This week has been absolute hell. My novel class is currently plodding through Shirley by Charlotte Bronte, and we have to read all 600 pages of it (tiny, tiny type) in two weeks. I spent around six hours doing that on Monday, and the same last night, which leaves little room for other studying or activities of other natures. I like the novel a lot, which is fortunate considering the way I’m stuffing it down my own throat. I wonder sometimes how my reading speed compares to the that of the average English major; I have to believe that I’m in the lower 50 percent where that’s concerned, even more so when the text in question is in Olde Englishe.

After wrapping up the final pages of chapter 18 last night, I headed to Bryan’s house to hang out, since I hadn’t seen the kid in what felt like ages. His housemate, Celeste, broke her arm snowboarding, and the solution doctors have cooked up in response is almost perverse: six pins in her bones, four of which extend out through her skin to be connected to a steel rod that runs parallel to her arm. No cast; just an ace bandage wrapped around the cruel metal arm which is now part of her natural one. I asked her to take the bandage off so I could see the gruesome details, and she humored me. I liked her more for it – nothing is more dissatisfying than a person who refuses to disclose the grisly results of some personal injury. I came into Bryan’s house with my glasses, and when it was time to go they’d disappeared. We scoured the room half-heartedly, but some pile of clutter has claimed them as completely as a vortex in space-time. Bryan’s going to look and let me know if he finds them, but in the meantime, the world is an impressionist painting that I can’t get out of – not so bad when I’m just walking around town, but eventually very painful when staring at a monitor for hours on end, the reason my vision deteriorated in the first place. If you’re reading this, Bryan, look harder.