I'm studying for the computer science test that is coming up tomorrow night. Being the class taught by the person who speaks poor English, it is an exercise in frustration and procrastination. We've been presented with various bits of conflicting information to memorize, to the extent that during the review session last night we were reduced to saying, "You said the program control block is not in the process image, but the book says it is, right here on this page. So what are we supposed to learn for the test?" Oh, and I found out that the whole time he's been saying "counter", he was saying "context" except when he was saying "counter". Those words are used in the same context too, so that makes my notes really suspect. I think an accent that heavy cannot be considered an accent.
I'll do anything to not study.
This is a class on operating systems, however, and in the spirit of showing how interrupt-driven I/O works, I shall describe my day accordingly.
Pay bills, evaluate financial situation. Hmm. I think I'd rather study. But I clean the cat box instead and suddenly it's time to—
Go to DSP lab, fiddle with the new lab assignment, and answer many questions from people who can't be bothered to show up on time. Why should they get in at 8:00 when they can just ask the students who did? But finally I can run back home for—
Lunch (leftover pizza and coffee), study by staring at printouts of the Power Point slides used as lecture notes and provided on the textbook author's website. The professor didn't even write them and I wonder if he's read them. I fume, call the man and share the joy, then study ineffectively till it's time to go back to school for—
Math class, where we learn about functions and sets, which were pretty much covered in the pre-calculus class I took back in 1998. The classroom is nice and warm. It's hard to stay awake. After class I go to the computer lab and try to copy a file to my flash drive, but they seem to have that functionality disabled. I give up and say many evil things about Microsoft not quite out loud on my way to—
The bank, where I deposit a check drawn from savings to cover the bills I paid in the morning. Then it's back home to study, but I'm still sleepy from math, so I nap (sort of), and fiddle on the Internet because Chicklit is back up after two days of being disappeared from the web. Eventually, I can procrastinate no longer and—
Study, till I'm overcome with the desire to fill the humidifier. Then I study a little more, but some cocoa would be nice. My cocoa-making is more involved than boil-water-open-packet, and that takes a few minutes. I use actual sugar, cocoa, and milk, with a little fresh ground pepper when I'm feeling feisty. Finally it's ready, but when I sit down to sip cocoa and study—
The phone rings. An actual client has called me! I haven't been working during the semesters because I've got a 4.0 to maintain, but my financial maneuverings of the morning have left me feeling more receptive to the idea of doing something for which I'll get paid. I check out the job, a blurry scan of a blurry fax scanned as a graphic instead of as text (when I see the name on the faxes I'm not surprised at the oversight), and I accept it since it's short enough for me to fit in this weekend. Overcome at the prospect of eventual remuneration, I pick up the phone and—
Call the man to tell him I have work. He congratulates me and tells me all about the adorable stock certificate he just received from his employer. We exchange views and then I study some more until I finish the cocoa and become fixated on—
Washing the dishes, which takes ten minutes. I still have time before my next class, so there's nothing to do but study a little more. I finish up with the slides and have a snack. I feed the cats. There really isn't time to start doing more studying, and I stare uselessly at the textbook till I have to—
Go back to school for the last class of the day. Phew! Then I come home and eat an apple to prevent scurvy while reading a long article about working mothers, which does not now and will never pertain to me, but I read the whole thing anyway because it's still more interesting than I/O processing techniques. Finally—
I can procrastinate no longer and I study for real. I take notes on the text, using the triage method promulgated by Matthew Modine's character in Gross Anatomy (memorize whatever's in bold print), just like they always told us to do back in high school, but we never did. Unlike what we were told, however, my studying is interleaved with a little whiskey-sipping and, once I run out of my ration of whiskey, writing this entry. More alcohol would result in excessive interrupts.
Now it's time for the one interrupt that cannot be disabled: sleep.
876 words | February 25, 2004 11:05 PM | Ivory tower