Hee. Irony thinks she isn't judgemental. That's brilliant, right there. Blatant fallacy, but brilliant. So for the last couple of weeks, the Fruit Hoarder and I have been trying to catch this duck. No, wait, we actually have a reason; it has a broken leg. We called the animal control people who told us to catch it by throwing a sheet over it and putting it in a box. After we do this, we can bring it to them. We informed them that it could still fly and swim and they said 'Boy, he's going to be hard to catch.' Now, surely the animal control people should be catching the duck instead of a bunch of twitty girls fresh off the pages of Sundresses Weekly. You say the word 'sheet' and the damn duck does a little Exorcist twist with his head and flies into the lake. Last week, the Rainy Cold Week From Hell, found about six of us running through the mud with a sheet and a box. People come up to me and ask if I'm one of the Duck Girls. The duck is still at large. He's also a father. There's this other male duck who's trying to invade his turf, which proves that there are even assholes in the bird kingdom.
Also, I absolutely adore this dry, seventy-five degree bluer-than-blue sky weather, but how am I to be expected to accomplish anything? Around here it's getting to the point where 'academic dedication' means actually showing up for a class between the hours of 12:00 and 3:00. You may start out lying by the lake reading your Freud, but in a half hour you'll either be using it as a headrest or abandoning it completely to toss around a football. Is somebody hiding behind a meticulously trimmed bush with a camera making a promotional video? Because if so, they should also be filming dormrooms at 2:00 in the morning, when we finally decide it's chilly enough to go in and are crying and selling our souls to the devil in order to get the work that we're supposed to have done a week ago finished for the class the next day that obnoxiously occurs during prime-sun time.
That's realism.