I actually have not listened to the Linkin Park song of the same name, to be honest, even though, rather embarrassingly, I must admit, I do happen to have a few of their offerings in my foobar playlist.
No, this post is literally about what I’ve been working my ass off on for the past few weeks in Digipen.
I’m alive.
How odd, perhaps, that I choose to say that for an opening line. Perhaps it’s due to my parents’ constant worries and teeth-grinding about my inability to survive outside of a protected bubble, or maybe it’s their belief that my time spent here is a waste of their money and effort.
Or could it be because I am slowly crumbling under the mountain upon my chest that comprises my assignments?
No, I have not bought hats. Actually, I despise hats, if only for the fact that they degrade situational awareness in many cases, and also because they’re incredibly uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, no, this post is to bring my mind a little more up to speed with how my 4-year epic in the United States has gone thus far.
If you thought typing on an iPhone was bad, trust me: it’s not a whole lot better on this Aria. At least the haptic feedback isn’t a complete pile of shit like it is on the samsung p3. Other than that it’s a lot better than the iphone, that is, after I root this damn device. AT&t really fucking sucks balls.
It’s pretty nice. Though it means I have to update my front page soon to reflect my new change of address.
I’ve pretty much settled in about as well as I possibly can, with Comcast (fuck them, by the way. Seriously, which ISP even still practices bandwidth limits on all their subscription plans?) providing me with the means to type this current post, and my mom/dad bumbling around at every step of the way.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
I don’t have much time to write anything at all, so let me just say this: If not for the fact that going to DigiPen has been almost a childhood dream of mine (well, since I was 13 or so, anyway), I’d probably have booked my own plane ticket back home by now. I’ve gotten a new apartment, gotten all my furniture ready, but restraining myself from planting fists/feet/knives into my parents is becoming more than a simple burden.
It’s simply killing me.
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