I was in a bonehead science class sometime during my incarceration in high school. If I remember correctly, I ended up in this particular class because my chemistry grades were rather poor. The class was so easy that even though I never listened to a word the mumbling old teacher said, my grades were so good that I wasn't included on the grade curve. If I had been included on the grade curve, all of the other students would have failed. Something like that, anyway. At some point, some teacher or school official asked if I might want to be placed in a class that was a bit more challenging for me. I thought about it for a minute and declined. The good thing about this particular science class was that I could listen to my walkman (carefully hidden under my hair) or read a book of my choice during class and still pull good grades. I wouldn't be able to do that in a more challenging class. Slight tangent: this was also the class where I was accused of throwing stink bombs and stealing a rather expensive scale, neither of which I had anything to do with. Of course, I knew that the scale had been stolen by the kid sitting near me (so he could weigh drugs...) but I wasn't about to tell anybody that. I think I was the main suspect because I always wore a long, black trenchcoat and large boots. Never trust people in trenchcoats and boots. They'll rob you blind and then shoot you for laughs. Or so the authorities seemed to think.
This class was in many ways similar to my current occupation as a paper carrier. I've been delivering papers since 1988, mainly because it gives me time to listen to music. I'm working way below my skill and education levels at this job, and there is no intrinsic quality in the work itself that interests me. I do it out of sheer habit. Okay, I guess there is a bi-weekly paycheck involved, but that has gotten smaller in the last year. The reason I bring this all up is because the end is in sight. We got the official word tonight that our last day of employment is June 30th. It's all very exciting. Circumstances are forcing me out of my comfort zone, which is often how this sort of thing has to happen for me.

Looking at the calendar, I see that I'll be throwing 29 more editions of the Wall St. Journal. The countdown begins.

cds I listened to while realizing that half of tonight's music is being sung in made up languages: Circle "Pori", Sigur Ros "( )", The Fixtures "Devil's Playground", and Tor Lundvall & Tony Wakeford "Autumn Calls"