I have begun a new semester of college! This means new classes, new teachers, and a new bag of some kind of chocolate-type food. I don’t want to brag, but already this term I have inadvertently insulted one of my teachers and embarrassed myself in front of two others. That’s three out of five, and I’m just barely beginning the second week. It might be a record, but I’ll have to call Eustace’s Book of Baby Names, Spelunking Techniques, and Useless World Records to find out for sure.
I started out this semester with a gorgeous color-coded study schedule that allows five hours of free time a day and three hours for eating, because, you know, I’ll have to get rid of that chocolate somehow. Even with the large amount of credits I’m taking, which I am too modest to even mention cough*eighteen*cough, I still will have enough time to watch my shows, go to zumba (not as great a place to meet guys as I hoped), and migrate my little colony of string-cheese people to the other side of my desk for the winter. (It’ll be a tough trek; some of the canoes might not make it.)
Still, as gorgeous as this schedule is, I’m afraid I have already deviated. While I did manage to write my three scheduled blogs last week (you saw those, right? Gee, I hope something didn’t go wrong with the upload. I hear most freak internet accidents come in threes…) I already feel a teensy bit behind in my classes. Especially Spanish. I have to take two years of a foreign language for my English major, which seems a tad counterintuitive. Besides, I thought I lived in America, the country that doesn’t have to learn anyone’s language because we force everyone to learn ours. Duh. Oh, well. At least speaking Spanish will be useful to me in the future, like when I have to teach Don Quixote in its original Spanish text to my high school English class.
The best thing about this school year so far is my Spanish teacher, or more specifically, my Spanish teacher’s voice. It’s basically the most fantastic voice I have ever heard. I could listen to it all day. I’m thinking of sneaking in a recorder so I can listen to it when I fall asleep at night. I know that isn’t creepy, because my brother told me so. He also said that it’s perfectly normal to build a wedding alter out of the used tissues of that stunning guy who I’ve barely talked to. My brother suggested that I rope the afore-mentioned guy with some kind of lasso when our marriage alter is finished, but I’m more of a shepherd’s crook kind of gal.
Advice of the day: Facebook stalking is nice, but people who mean business should go for the classic sit-in-a-tree-outside-their-window method. That’s true love for you.