Oops, there goes another piece of my dignity

Sorry for being so deficient in the posting department in the last couple of days. School started, and as usual, I’m hating my life all aflutter with excitement.

Yesterday was interesting, to say the least.

My alarm went off at 6:30, right in the middle of a NSFW dream involving me, Vampire Eric from True Blood, and a bottle of whipped cream. It’s not fun to be lurched into reality when you’ve got Alexander Skarsgard telling you that Sookie Stackhouse is a pimple on whore’s butt compared to your radiance. Hear that world? Not cool AT ALL.

So I left the house at what I thought would give me a reasonable amount of time to deal with the parking and new freshman trying to commit suicide in the crosswalks. Apparently, I conveniently forgot (or blocked out of my memory entirely) to  factor in the OMG SCHOOL’S STARTING I’VE GOTTA BE THERE, LIKE, YESTERDAY levels of apprehension everyone was experiencing. Traffic was backed up onto the interstate from the exit I needed to take, and so I decided to risk grand theft auto to park in ghetto and take the shuttle.

Because hey, even if my car was missing or up on blocks when I got out of class, I wouldn’t be late on my first day. Obviously, I win. Take that you silly, thieving rednecks.

Turns out I wasn’t late. I was early. By an hour and a half. Fuck.

My only choice was to hide in the computer lab and pretend to be busy doing important school-y stuff so I don’t have to hang outside my classroom reading the Sookie Stackhouse novel I had stashed in my bag. (And excuse me. I know Charlaine Harris is a successful, published author, but seriously. Twilight makes these books look like fricking Shakespeare. The best thing to do would be buy the next four just to be sure. Which I did not do. OF COURSE NOT.)

Five minutes before class was slated to start, I went upstairs and waited outside my classroom.

Alone.

The clock was ticking down, and I started to get more twitchy with every passing minute. In the span of two minutes, I expeienced every Oh-my-God-class-is-cancelled-which-means-I-won’t-graduate-on-time-and-what-the-blankity-blank-am-I-gonna-do-now kind of emotion a person can possibly process in 120 seconds. I was bordering on a manic anxiety attack when I realized this was probably a problem of my own creation. I ran downstairs two steps at a time back to the computer lab to check if I had the time and place right, loudly cursing the all the idiots who were bogging down the network. (Whaddaya mean high traffic delays? MY FUTURE HINGES ON THIS, DEVIL MACHINE.)

Note to self: 340 does not equal 304. Dyslexia strikes again.

I made it to class on time, but not before everyone else was already seated and watching the professor struggle with the SmartBoard. While he was joking about his legendary fear of domestic cats and prodding at every corner of the board, I had to wade my way through forty other students to find a seat in the back row. Everyone watched me shake and sputter and drop things until I was able to pull myself together. Not a good way to start the year.

It’s hard for a person who wipes runny noses and butts all day to admit that she’s lost another shred of her already flimsy dignity, but that’s what happened. When I told Red what happened, he just snickered. Boo was a little more sympathetic, but that might have been because I was holding a box of Teddy Grahams while I was telling him.

I’m being dramatic, of course. That’s what I do. It’s not like I peed my pants, vomitted, or fainted in front of everyone. But that’s what it felt like to me. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of that room so I could hide in a bathroom stall, rocking back and  forth while quietly weeping. I didn’t do that either, but I really, really wanted to.

Today was a little better. The shuttle was waiting for me this morning and when I got on, a teacher I had last semester was sitting in the row in front of me. (Umm, hello? Professors don’t even get priority parking at this place?)

Prof: I know you!

Me:  I hope so. (In my head: You had better remember me. I made a pact with a voodoo woman for my left kidney in order to make the deadline on the final project for your class.)

Prof: What did I end up giving you?

Me: Um, you gave me an A.

Prof: Haha, grade inflation? No, really? An A?

Me: Um, yeah. I did pretty well all semester.

Prof: Oh. Oh! That’s right. You did all the work on the project.

Me: I had some help. I write most of the paper though.

Prof: That’s right. You’re a good writer. Keep it up.

Shuttle Driver: Oh, girrrrrrrl, that’s a compliment! She told you you’re good. How cool is that? You’ll have to go home and tell your mom!

I managed to choke out a thanks before I melted completely into the upholstery. I was honestly blown away by her remark because I spent the entirety of her class terrified that she didn’t like me. It totally made my  day. Well, that and the fact that Red told me Boo kept asking where I was while I was gone.

Heh. Maybe it will be a good year after all.

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About Chelsie

Mommy. Beauty product whore. Plastic lawn flamingo enthusiast. Nosy neighbor. One day novelist.
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