Colour Me Bad

I'm not good with colours. Neither do I enjoy shopping for throw pillows or skipping through puddles. I don't go in for long walks in the forest with a "young friend."

I tried to liven up my blog with a little colour and a fancy font or two but thanks to some kind suggestions and one or two insults, I now know that when it comes to aesthetics I am to say the least, challenged. So it's back to boring old grey. At least it is easy on the eyes.

I have been in bed all day, sick. This is the first time I have called off work sick in at least 6 or 7 years. I had the worst headache all night and a sore throat but managed to sleep most of the day, highly unusual for me. I am thankful that I don't get sick very often, hardly at all, but this one floored me. I managed to get out of bed about 4.30 and feebly took a shower and got dressed as I had class tonight. In utter misery, I dragged my sorry arse down to the garage and winced as I got into the car. The parking situation at the college was its usual clusterfuck with next to no spaces available so I parked in a remote lot, making note of any landmarks and began the trek to the school, cursing and muttering to myself as I went. I must have been giving off ugly vibes as even the Armenian lads were giving me a wide one instead of closing ranks to force physical contact as a precursor to a fight. Up the many steps I laboured and across the footbridge, up some more steps and then some more only to find an empty classroom and the dreaded pink notice informing all suckers that class was cancelled. Bastards.

If this post seems familiar, it is. I think I posted about a cancelled class several weeks ago, due at the time to high winds. Today one can only assume that it is due to the fire in Griffith Park, 3 or 4 miles away. It's a nasty fire and to be fair, Glendale is suffering from smoke and ash fallout as it happens to be the way the breeze is blowing. My professor, in addition to being a boring old twat, is quite obviously a pussy. He is also very absent minded. Last week, he attempted to show the class a video (yes, VHS) about the hiring and firing process. After about 20 minutes fiddle-fucking around with the VCR, he finally got it to work with the projector and up on the screen appeared an episode of Starsky & Hutch he had taped back in '81. He had brought the wrong tape from home. As a consolation, he then passed around his holiday photos from a trip to Moscow he took prior to the demise of the USSR. I firmly believe, having bought the textbook, I could pass the class without his help.