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Technology Stocks : Don't You Cry -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: HG who wrote (172)	2/15/2003 2:01:28 AM
From: HG	Respond to of 239

Cosmic Advice Math final tomorrow, her mind’s empty - she’s been cutting classes. Missed one class test and got a zero in another. The teacher dislikes her. No, that’s not right, the teacher hates her. Calculus, Probability, Trigonometry. All her friends are well prepared. Frantic forages through her bookshelf – can’t find the textbook. She doesn’t remember buying the book. T'was out of stock at the beginning of the year and then she never needed it till the exams had crept up and Holy shit, now what? “Such a fucking idiot. What will I do?” She’s terrified and nobody will lend her the book and she can't master entire year’s work in a night anyway. Calculus, Probability, Trigonometry blurr her vision. The certainty of her impending failure engulfs her filling her with dread. Failure. Failure? Failure! Oh the horror. Terror sweeps through her body and she squirms, twists, turns, sinking into the darkest abyss in the cosmos. Calculus, Probability, Trigonometry - all jumbled in her mind. She will fail. The bile feels sick in her gut and her head swims, round and round it goes, faster and faster till its impossible to breathe. Darkness…and then eyes flutter, breathing gets easier. She squints in the dark. What should she do about the book? Flashing images of high-school, heck she’s left college and university behind ages ago. Memories of the present dancing in her head –a husband, three kids, a dog, mortgage -- and no math exam. Sweet relief carbonating through her veins. She won’t fail, she can’t fail, she didn’t fail. An alarm clock goes off somewhere, a sleepy hand presses snooze. “I’m too hard on myself,” and she breathes the morning scent of jasmines thru half open eyes and bay-window. Early May outside; the cockatoos scream and tens of thousands of roses spill over trellises and arbors, dew launders waves of colors. She can almost feel delicious goose bumps from the cool morning breeze and decides to float into the dawn. The grass is wringing-wet, flowers weighed down by dew, fragrance and sheer perfection. Birds frolic. Silicon jungle shrouds the sun - she’s thankful for her peace of earth. She yawns and stretches her arms outwards. Ahhh, when ”Howdy,” chirps a friendly face over the fence. Arms drop dead by her side. She had walked out nude. For Chrissake, why’s he peeping into her backyard at 4 am? The fucking wifey materializes and waves too. Rats. She tries to hide but they keep yapping - as if conversing with naked women at sunrise were perfectly normal. Her eyes dart around furtively looking for something, anything, to cover her shame. There’s nothing. She tries to dissolve in the chair, nodding at tales of a wonderful cruise and how Uncle Eddy fell off from the boat. Shut Up, she wants to shout. Who the hell cares about the fucking cruise at 4:00 am when I’m exposed? Exposed? Exposed! The alarm goes off again - ten minutes of snooze time are up. She pulls back the covers – relieved - and slides her feet to the floor. She’s shared too many of her secrets with John.