Last night I couldn’t sleep from bad digestion, which also made it impossible to get through Darwin’s writing, and I woke up utterly exhausted two hours later than I had planned. In order to get to the bookshop before this year’s first lesson I would have to skip breakfast and grab something on campus. Utterly destroyed, hungry and dying for a coffee & cigarette I was plagued by my new hick roommate who just can’t stop singing sourly to Norwegian country music. Very loud. There is one good side to him, though. He has a serious back injury, and because of the excruciating pain he passes out from time to time, which is always a riot.
The kiosk on the subway station was all out of sandwhiches and I was hoping the words of Zarathustra could dull out the ache. Instead I met that girl, who was more than happy to go out with me back then, but couldn’t give a good god damn if I had any feelings whatsoever. So, hungry and miserable I now had to listen to her and her friend chatting away about parties and guys I do not know but still reserve the right to hold in contempt. Whenever I see her she reminds me of everything I don’t like about myself, what I blame for our fling to never amount to anything. In the midst of this hell I recieved a text message from this single mum who keeps insisting we should be together, although I always assure her I don’t have the money she’s so excited about. I didn’t reply but added her words to my full cup of worry and misery. I parted as soon as I could to get to the campus bookstore in time.
For the first time in my experience they had all the books I needed. Maybe because I bought half of them last year and failed to show up for the exams, but it still felt like it was a turn of events. Instead I realized they had all the students in there too, and I was forced to wait in line with all these unterlings while someone was trying to wake up the cashier whose sole purpose in life is to be a frustration to those who are going through the education he himself could never possibly understand.
With my books pushed down in the backpack and one-thousand-two-hundred crowners poorer, I looked at the time and was glad to see I had time for breakfast. I got in another long line of people who decided noon was a good time for lunch. I decided to hate society for the same reason. With a roastbeef bagel and a ham & cheese calzone on the plate, an apple juice in one hand and the coffee deal cup in the other, I eeked my way to the only free table furthest away from the counter, with my back to the universe in general. The food was good but cost me over a hundred crowners, which is the most expensive breakfast I have had in years. I vowed to never err so ignorantly again.
The food got me up on energy and I shook away the dreadful memory of the morning, and took out the papers I’d printed the night before who told me where to go and to what class. Having figured that out properly, I noticed that the date for the first Tuesday class was incompatible with my present placement in time. It was not until next week, which consequently made my whole hell-trip out here a waste of valuable time. I almost broke down in tears and cursed the calendar who runs all these plots against me. Feeling so inclined so as to not give a shit wether I was dead or alive, I decided to head on homewards. The sacred ground of university life was now tainted with my troubled past, so at least I should find something useful to do at home. Or accidentally fall onto the railroad tracks. On the subway home I got my pen and paper out, and failing to put down in words exactly how I felt I felt even more unfortunate, that is, forgotten by Fortune and strapped to the pillory of Fate’s spiteful indifference.
It was time to get our internet access up and running. The customer support service was up until 7 p.m, it was only ten to four so at least the day would not be a complete waste. After a fifteen minute wait to the agonizing elevator music only interrupted by a machine recording of some whore telling me I was still in line, the girl picked up the phone and wrote down my connection details, only to finally dismiss my life line by informing that "the guys who open the ports aren’t here until the morning, eight to four". And no, I could not turn off my old, noisy computer in the meanwhile, in case someone else should snatch my IP address. I hate this someone else.
So yet again I had to tell my rommates how my guarantee of internet access two days ago was invalidated once more by belittling routines of a rather solid but noticeably arrogant ISP. My rommates blamed me for the whole thing and put on some more country music. Very loud. Instead of hanging around I headed down to Oslo City and bought some electrical tape, a four gig USB memory stick and AA batteries to ensure my utter and complete financial ruin. I was tempted to buy a scorpion in the pet-store next door to cause random havoc somewhere, but alas my funding said no.
It was five o’clock and time to collect dinner. Something good, something exclusive, something of quality that could make me feel better ’bout life, the universe and everything; spaghetti with minced meat tomato sauce and extra garlic. There was a trainee behind the register who should never have left her family’s sheep farm, where she could have attained happiness and not been a waste of my breath, holding us all back by hand-scanning with her left hand and playing with her bubble gum with the other. I asked for a fifty note extra, a gift to a colleague who’s quitting her day job and setting an example for many, and she gave me a fiver instead. But I held my contempt behind tight lips, for I am not one to shoot someone in the head the first day. They have plenty of time to do that themselves later on when everything they ever tried to do has failed, especially the little brats they spawned to replace themselves with what little false hope of success that comes with it.
A smart move one should say, for in the next minute on my way out the alarms went off and red spotlights shone in my face so the mindless security guards could have a go. The sheep head took my side and after careful examination of my highly private backpack it turned out it was the same USB memory stick I bought an hour ago which released the alarm. I cursed myself for neglecting the scorpion. Not an excuse later I was escorted outside by these suspicious dogs, while the gipsys inside had a field day by the meat counter now left unwatched.
And here I am, working without pay, and having to return there for fabric softener before I can finally go home. At least the cold evening is soon to arrive, so this shit day can be over and another headache replace it. Today’s to-do list that’s glowing at me from my cellphone is soon to be completed:
- buy books
- go to class
- electrical tape
- fabric softener
- 50 NOK to colleague
- nice dinner
- shoot yourself in the head