On perception durring drug use. Don't expect it to make too much sense

I had my wisdom teeth taken out yesterday, and it hurts right now way more than it did durring the procedure. I opted out of the IV sedation, because I wanted to experience the other wacky stuff they put in me. The nitrous oxide is probably the closest I'll get to using recreational drugs of any kind, and it's probably not nearly as strong as stuff people use on the street, but the effects were interesting. The entire time I was on my nitrous high, I was completely aware of it. I knew the stuff was supposed to make me silly, and I knew what I was saying was an effect of the drug. I had some interesting conversations with the nurse, who obviously knew that I would be incoherent and rather silly, but held an interesting discussion with me until it was time to do the actual removal. I knew exactly who I was and where I was, and the drug just made me a little dizzy. It got stronger after a while, and I tried to fight it. It was like little bits of me were being turned off and on. I don't mean in the sense that suddenly my arm wouldn't move when I told it to, I mean that peices of my personality started talking to and about each other and began to separate themselves (myselves?) in a manner not disimilar to a friend of mine who has created a sort of alter ego. Any part of me could retain coherency at any given time, but the aggressive part of me kept trying to fight the drug while the part of me that knew why I was there had to restrain him. It was like trying to roll a will save against myself. All the while, I was completely aware that the drug was making me think like this, and if I tried hard enough, I could simply ignore its effects. As for the rest of my body, its connection with my brain was slightly weakened. I'd probably have to concentrate a bit more on things that would normally be muscle memory, but I do that when I'm really tired anyway, so I've had practice. It seemed like my body was far from my brain; my proprioception was really weird. It was as if my body were a giant machine, and I controlled everything from my brain, sending commands to different bits of me. I guess that's what actually happens, but you can't usually feel it happening, because it's so fast. The whole experience was very interesting, but I don't think I could do it again; there's too much for one part of my mind to take control of at one time.

Rain is only soothing if you're inside

Underclassmen suck. They are ignorant, annoying, disrespectful and stupid, with few exceptions. Phillip won't shut the fuck up about batman and how begging for his life won't save him, the dumbass girls who sit behind me in studyhall wont stop giggling and making mundane comments about people and events they know nothing about while I'm trying to write a fucking essay and half of Central Sound just can't SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SING YOU FUCKING IMBECILES! I took the class to sing and dance, not have my time wasted by lectures everytime anyone wants to do shit their own fucking way.
Work sucks. Theres always some tiny goddamn mistake that doubles the amount of time I take to do anything. Either the wood is upside down, or I forget the fucking hinges and I just realized I haven't labeled a single damn wall Ive constructed since being shown how to do it. If he didn't suddenly have lots of work for me, Ken'd probably fire me for my incompetence.
Old people suck. I'm quite obviously having a long, bad day, and someone I haven't seen in years and will doubtlessly not remember asks me how I am. I reply with a flat, don't-bug-me-toned "tired," and she has the nerve to say "well, welcome to the world." Yeah, great, I've lived in the world for eighteen years now, and I have a fairly good idea on how it works. I know everyone has their hard days, but I also know how not to be a smart-ass bitch to them. I don't care how many fucking years of life experience you have right now, I just want to go home and write my fucking essay and eat some fucking food. I don't need you're sage-like condescension to make me stop and think about how much of an ass I am. Now I'm home, and it took me a fucking hour to get this machine working, and I'm so fucking pissed about everything I can't concentrate on my fucking essay that currently has no fucking focus of anykind. That, and I hate hate fucking rainstorms.

Fedora, Phedora, c'mon, just say it.

I'm back! Well, I've been back, but I've been lazy. eventually I'll read everyone's stuff and update on everywhere I post, but its weird to get back into the habit of being able to use the internet. For my first trick, I shall post a thing I turned into english. I'd give info about the assignment, but that isn't important. What I wrote was an essay written by my eight-year-old daughter for fathers day. No making fun of the name.

Fedora A. Dollinger

What I think about my Dad

June 15, 2024

My Daddy is wierd, but I like him, most of the time. Daddy teaches philosophy at a college, but Mommy says he just uses big words to make the people he teaches think funny. I think thats okay, because sometimes its fun to think funny, and if he gets money for it its like getting paid for playing games. But I think that maybe my Daddy plays too many games, because sometimes it makes him really annoying. Like his Star Wars thing he made me watch. I like it, but Daddy likes it too much sometimes. He wrote an entire book about it, Mom says I'll understand it better when I'm older. I don't really understand it at all right now, but I like the robots. Daddy also bothers me because he is always right. I didn't want to show him my paper, because he would point out all the little mistakes in it. I know he only wants to make it better, and he does stuff like that at work, but I want to be able to fix stuff on my own. Mommy says I get that from him, and Daddy used to always have to do stuff on his own. He still doesn't always let Mommy help him cook. I don't mind that so much, because Daddy is better at cooking than Mommy. Sometimes I get mad that he named me “fedora” because people make fun of me because its a kind of hat, but later I feel better because it makes me feel special. My Daddy always tries to make me feel special, and tells me to just act the way I want to because he says “there are so many people in this world and its hard enough to be seen without acting like everyone else.”