Thursdays are horrible: the day begins with an hour and fifteen-minute class at eleven, followed by two fifty-minute classes back to back, and finally a two and a half-hour lecture that ends at seven-thirty.
The only consolation that comes at the price of 355 minutes of note-taking and trying very desperately to stay awake is this: my weekends start the moment I walk out of my last Thursday class, i.e. I have no classes on Friday. I greatly admire the friend I share two out of the four classes that violate the sanctity of our minds the most with: her Thursdays start at ten, a full hour earlier than mine, but she finishes the day more victorious and with less battle scars than I ever have. Sometimes I fight the invisible academic enemy with her, and sometimes I choose to stay in the barracks.
Today was one of those days where I stayed in the barracks: I was in no mood to put on my game face and tackle the classes head-on. Instead, I opted to collapse into a lackadaisical clump of flesh on the futon — tired, unmotived, dangerously peckish — and watched light and fluffy lovey-dovey Leslie Caron movies on the tube.
As lovely as Leslie Caron is, I realize that my watching her falling in love with clean-cut American soldiers will not help me get anywhere closer to my degree. It’s time to turn over a leaf, perhaps, when I — your standard issue skeptic who doesn’t see the point in romantic relationships — yell words of angry encouragement in the general direction of the TV, begging her to “just marry him, you ho!”
As long as Turner Classic Movies doesn’t play brainless romantic comedies with good-looking leading men on Thursday afternoons, I may still have a chance of finishing the week on a wing and a prayer. If not, then I may just end up being a Comm major after all.
Posted on October 6th, 2006 by Antiguit
