Back to school, to prove to Dad I'm not a fool.

Last night my roommates and I sat around playing Sequence and drinking beers, hoping that the fluffy flakes of snow falling outside would build up enough to cancel classes. Negative, Ghostrider.

So today was the first day of classes. I'm taking 18 hours this semester. Eighteen. We'll see how that goes. If my posts get progressively sassier, comment and ask me to chill out. (I don't do well with a heavy load of classes. Fall semester 2009: 17 hours + diagnosed migraines via the voodoo university health clinic = literal and figurative headache.)

The first day back went a little like this:

Snooze.
Snooze.
Shower with fifteen minutes left before I need to leave my apartment.
Park. Walk to class with wet hair.
Arrive to class with actual frozen hair (and perhaps pneumonia?).
Syllabus reviews.
Buy an extremely crappy egg/cheese croissant. Accidentally drop half of it on the snow.
Show up to next class; ask guy if I can sit by him/"is this seat saved?"...he hesitates. As I'm sitting down I realize the flakes from the crumbly croissant are sprinkled on my shirt. So that's why he hesitated.
More class; more syllabus reviews.
Catch up with a couple old class-friends between classes.
Evennn moooore classsss...is this over yet?
Finally over. Drive home, relieved. Put on pajamas less than one minute after walking in the door.

I've got homework, but it's not due until Wednesday. Tonight I'll just relax: The Bachelor, the National Championship, and a big bowl of soup.