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Apr. 4th, 2005 @ 02:47 am the curse of the Electronic Arts auto-resume
I'm getting so many "Your resume has been submitted!" emails that my spam filter is getting wary. This brings me immense satisfaction.

It's way past my bedtime. Go to bed, me.
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Apr. 4th, 2005 @ 01:00 pm i said who's winning (we're all winning)
There aren't many days when I wake up feeling like this, especially after five hours of sleep tormented by hunger pangs, insomnia, and mood swings. But today I woke up to singing robins and sunshine and blue sky, and somehow the long, miserable trudge to class didn't seem so long or miserable.

There's something about that first gorgeous day of spring (the true beginning of spring, not the dull mark on your calendar) that makes up for months of gray. Puts the proverbial spring in your step. It's days like this that make me glad I'm not in Taiwan--every now and then you need a little blue and some white puffy clouds to break the monotony of that perpetual overcast. Though nothing changes, the brightness and the blue and the green makes everything look beautiful, blissful even, even and especially if you know it's not. And the great thing is that the weather is actually great--the only days like this in Hsinchu are the brief transition between smothering clouds and sweltering heat, gray and a slightly lighter shade of gray.

"It's like the Windows XP default desktop," I can imagine some NEHSer would say if he saw this. I pity him, but I am giddy with delight that I don't have to be him.

Coupled with the fact that we're still in prime prospie season--meaning that Dascomb is serving half pound burgers and ice cream sundaes for lunch--and good God, I love today, I love this mood, I love this place. And for once I can think of God and smile.

Outside my window I can see some random girl sprawled out for a catnap on the grass on South Quad, just south of South. While I am not as adventurous as she (does she have any idea where that grass has been?), I can relate.

Life is too short to live under one kind of sky.
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