Crunch Time, Mak-time

A cup of harmless (or so I thought) Cappucino kept my mind on a non-stop, 3 hour replay of variables, constants, alphabets, assumptions and models last night (or morning to be exact). Hilariously enough, these were things that escaped me this morning, when I needed them most.

One by one those dreadful letters and numbers just up and left, abandoning me in my combat against all things evil in fiscal and monetary policy. I try to tell myself, "I am not alone, I am not alone, I am not alone". I am not alone, am I?

As of the moment, that is what I am, alone. Alone in threading 6 pages worth of words and the harvest of thoughts I have gathered over the course of 11 weeks. It's okay, words are easier than letters that when combined, don't make sense. At the end of the day, words penned down well earn me a warm heart.

Statistics will then conquer my time, the minute I raise my fingers that have done away with its typing. As the clock strikes 8.30pm tomorrow, another journey will be revisited. Some numbers to run, a few papers to examine, and a hell lot of typing to be done.

Then? The struggle ends there. Full stop. Just as sudden as it came. I pray I have enough strength, courage and faith to go on. Amin.

"Scandalous Lives of UChicago's Elite"

I have not slept in my own bed for the past 4 nights. Scandalous much, right?

It is in fact, a scandal in it's finest form, I tell you. I have been spending my cold nights huddled up in someone else's space, on someone else's bed. Wait, you're not going to tell anyone, are you? Please don't. I have to live up to my heavily Muslim name (Nurjannah Iman Syaqirene) you know.

What's that you said? I didn't quite hear you. Oh, you don't know what my name means? I don't know if I should tell you. Well, well, it's for me to know and for you to find out. Let's leave it at the fact that I probably don't live up to my good name as much as I want to.

Yeah, man, especially now that I'm sleeping with someone else.

Oh yeah, you heard me right. I'm simply enjoying my intimate nights with a certain someone. Someone by the name of Joe.

There is no more incredible feeling in the world than losing yourself in the arms of a strong man while he indulges your every sense. To see, to feel, touch, to taste, to smell. Uh-huh, we do all that, Joe and I.

Halt! Don't jump the gun just yet. I don't smell smell (or sniff, make of it how you want) him, his feet or that certain part of the human anatomy I'm sure you are thinking about. Nor do I touch whatever you think I do. You have despicable thoughts, sheesh.

What exactly am I intimating, then? Well, you know, the innocent stuff. To see is to look into the other's eye. To touch is to feel the warmth of the other sitting right beside you. To taste is . . . to literally, bite into your guilty pleasures of chocolates and sins. (Gotcha there, didn't I). And to smell is to smell another's presence beside you, just from the way his clean, crisp clothes smell, or the noticeble scent of his perfume.

But what I love most about Joe is that he understands my intellectual pursuits and the sacrifices I make for them. He doesn't mind that we are surrounded by obnoxious, loud people. All he wants to do is just blanket me with his warmth and whisper encouraging and sweet, sweet thoughts into my ears. It tickles me, feeling his hot breath against my sensitive ears. But it's a feeling like. No. Other. (to emphasize just how that feeling felt like no other).

For the most part, Joe accommodates my search for ideas and entertains my nightly thoughts about making a difference in the world. I talk, I type, while Joe sings and Joe writes. What does he write? He writes the most meaningful missives, left on tables after tables so that I can read his words and remember his presence wherever I go. He is romantic that way, you know.

Ah, what a fresh new world you show me, Joe.

Because of that, Joe, I'm devoting 5 more nights with you. 5 more nights with you, and I will soar high above the horizons as you take me to places I have never been, Joe. 5 more nights of just you and me. Yes, you and me, Joe. How can life get any better than this?

For all this, I heart you Joseph Regenstein.

Picture courtesy of forums.nutsie.com

His name, in full, is Joseph Regenstein Library, folks. Of course we play SAFE, need you even ask?

Disclaimer: Euphemism. Self-explanatory. The chirpy tone, and sensational foreplay? Nothing but a twisted version of the sad, (and really twisted) things I actually do and will continue to do at Joseph Regenstein Library. It's true I haven't been sleeping in my beloved bed the past 4 nights, though. I sleep IN Joseph Regenstein Library, indeed!

What's Floating NJ's Boat?

Punca-punca keterapungan bot/sampan/perahu Nurjannah:
Masalah subletter? Setel!

Date: Thu, 03 Dec 2009 11:23:14 -0600
From: Rachel Belanger  
Subject: Re: 54th & Cornell, Jan-March 2010, $500
To: NJ

Hey NJ,

Is your room still available to sublet? I've explored a couple other options, and yours is my best one. It would be great to meet your roommate before totally committing, but I'm sure I'd be able to live with her. Let me know what's next...

Thanks!

Rachel

Gadis yang akan mengambil alih bilik saya benar-benar wujud, in the flesh bak kata orang putih; dan saya sudah pun bertemu dengannya dua hari yang lepas. It's a small world after all, kerana kami rupa-rupanya pernah mengambil kursus Environmental Studies bersama-sama.

Kami juga telah mengumpat tentang pensyarah kursus itu yang bosan lagi memualkan, Sir Peter Crane, (ya, he was knighted for his contributions to the Kew Botanical Gardens. Agak cool, tapi faktor ini will be discounted bila anda masuk kelasnya dan lihat kaca mata, pakaian serta intonasi suaranya yang boring).

Beliau adalah epitomi kepada segala stereotype yang wujud dalam kepala otak saya tentang kebosanan orang Inggeris (as opposed to Anglo Americans). Jangan tanya saya kenapa, but I'm averse to a lot of things British. Mintak simpang malaikat 44 jika saya perlu menonton wayang-wayang British. Sangat tak kuasa. Dahla gigi kuning and tak handsome (with the exception of Ed Westwick). And I digress.

Tidak akan menghadapi set masalah ekonomi dan statistik. Selama-lamanya!
Okay, I lied. Bukan selama-lamanya, only in my dreams. Well, sekurang-kurangnya buat 4 bulan yang akan datang. Juga ingin dimaklumkan di sini saya kini tidak sebodoh IT yang disangkakan kerana semalam, saya telah berjaya mengguna R, statistical software yang digunakan untuk kelas Statistik. Pada firasat saya, R adalah sejuta kali lebih user friendly berbanding Matlab. Pencipta R wajar menerima Nobel Prize. Terima kasih kerana membuat orang yang paling bodoh IT rasa pandai sebentar. By the by, kalau awak dah pernah nampak saya kecoh tentang ini, diam-diam sahaja. I've said it once, and I'm going to say it again, Statistics suck balls!

Berjaya mengecek Papanya untuk mendahului tambang perjalanan Cape Town ke Chicago.
Kejayaan ini telah dikecapi beberapa minggu yang lalu, melalui panggilan telefon yang sangat panjang, namun the euphoria baru kick in. Kenapa lampi sangat? Sebab saya baru sahaja short of $4000 setelah membayar yuran program ke Cape Town, dan apa-apa handout yang boleh disumbangkan adalah sangat bermakna kini. Of course, operasi untuk menukar cash advance ini kepada convertible loan/stipend akan dijalankan. Proses mengecek fasa 2 akan dilancarkan, jangan risau.

First fall of snowflakes on my shoulders
Maklumlah, awal-awal musim salju memang sexciting. Tunggulah 3, 4 minggu nanti when the novelty wears off, akan saya complain pasal sejuk nak mampus, inches of snow yang oh-so-annoying.

Now that you are privy to my source of transient happiness, you should know that hell awaits me. Sila wish me good luck dan beri sokongan padu dan jitu kerana saya akan cuba jadi Superwoman untuk buat (dan fail) segala-galanya. Nothing short than suicide, Kamikaze style!

"Houston, We Have a Problem"

. . . An effing problem with procrastination, that is.

On a less self-denigrating note, here's one of those songs that you just gotta fall in love with once introduced to. On days that just isn't fall but not quite winter, short of hours before doomsday strikes, this is a always a good song for the lonely. Heck, it's a good song for the lonely. Period.