My own surreal life.

DIARY

I've been an awful penpal this week. I haven't posted anything except those silly questions.

I have the song Mad World stuck in my head.

Yesterday, I was so tense at work all day, I almost felt sick.
At 3:45 I bolted from the clinic and walked briskly down Michigan, around the to-be-Trump monstrosity, then the river, and cut in along Clark, grabbing a bite at the Expo building before I arrived at the testing center 20 N. Clark.

The very far-sighted can perhaps see where this is going.

The test went well. The most interesting details, of course, I must spare you... I loved the analytical writing section. It was actually fun, and I felt like the issues selected had been tailored specifically to me. I won't get into my actual scores on the Verbal and Quantitative sections, except to say that

1) they're definitely what I need to get in where I'm applying
2) my Quantitative score was 70 points higher than my Verbal score, and higher than the Quantitative mean for Engineering and Physics students.

I was still a little disoriented by this scholastic shake up when I got off the elevator at about 9 PM and stepped onto the street. I'd never seen so many fire engines in my life. Literally dozens and dozens, they clogged every intersection like a faithful recreation of the closing scenes of The Blues Brothers. Yes! I'd arrived at the burning of the LaSalle Bank Building, one of the greats of the Midwestern Wall Street.

These pictures are from the Trib:

I spent a half-hour circling several blocks around, trying to get a good vantage point... I'm a shameless rubberneck. I do think being a writer legitimizes the practice, somewhat, but frankly, it's exciting to be located when something important happens. I watched the smoke rising into the air and watched the people watching the smoke, but most impressive of all was the image of streets flooded with so many bright red trucks and swirling lights, and police and men with hoses and hats running to and fro, tightly organized, and fast.

My final view was from Clark street looking along Quincy. The top of the Sears tower was wreathed in a milky white cloud, and the midsection, shrouded by inky black smoke. The areas above and below stood out as thosands of perfect squares of fluorescent light.

I got on the train and rode home.

I was going to complain about something, but I'm in too good a mood right now.

~ Connor