I went to the gym today with the best of intentions. Then I realized that I have only gym shorts and shoes in my locker, and would have to go topless to lift weights today. No, thank you.
Although I have some writing to work on, I ever-so-responsibly saved the paper ONLY to my laptop at home, so though I've spent an hour in the computer lab, nothing of value has occurred.
Across the lab, the Resident Lab Geek is tutoring an hair-twirling, extra-busty girl in something mathy, and although every fiber of my bitchy self is saying "make fun of her!", honestly, I'm pretty much assured of being that girl at some point (or more likely, at all points involving math classes) in the next two years.
I do hate to conform to such a twitty stereotype, but goddamn it, I hate math. I hate thinking about functions and factors and derivatives and box-and-whisker plots. Hmm, "box and whisker" sounds somewhat lesbionic, so that facet of stats class might be bearable.
Seeing as my undergrad solution for the one required math class was a liter of Diet Coke mixed with vanilla Stoli, I think the learning curve for actual, grad-school-level math might be high enough to require lots of sober tutoring.