Ok, so for the three of my readers who actually care about my personal life, I’m having a lot of “fun” readjusting to college life. If you aren’t one of the three people mentioned above, don’t feel bad; if a lot of random strangers cared about my life, it would be a little bit weird. So if you are interested, keep reading, but if not, there is a post directly before this one that may have a topic of interest to you. On the other hand, I’m going to attempt to make this post humorous, so if you like that sort of thing, feel free to read on.
First of all, the fact that I will have to cook for myself for the next three weeks (terrible I know) was not lost on my mother. I mentioned several times while home for Christmas that I would have to feed myself for three weeks off of five boxes of chees crackers and a bag of candy corn, a statement that obviously contained a bit of exaggeration; I knew that I would need the candy corn to stay awake on the drive back to school and I had miscounted the cracker boxes and only had four. Anyway, mom said that she would send some food home with me, to which I thought that she meant that she would send some leftovers with me, maybe even some frozen hamburger. That, however, was not to be the case. It started off innocently enough with her giving me some containers with leftovers from some of the holiday means: some casserole here and some ham there. But it kept going on and on and on. I said yes to wanting some potatoes, not knowing that she had clearly been planning on feeding about a hundred Irishmen who hadn’t shown up and needed someplace to offload the tubers. She also gave me a ton of carrots (clearly expecting my rabbit namesake to visit) and other vegetables. Next came the frozen meat of which there was so much that I fully expected some sort of vegetarian police to arrest me. Next was the side of salt beef, about a hundred and fifty pounds of beans, a few barrel sized wheels of cheese, and some deli meat. There was so much food that I had to rent a U-haul to move it all. That was just a joke; it all fit into our 15-passenger van. Which now that I think about it makes me wonder how they’ll get everyone to church. But in all sincerity, if you’re reading this mom, thanks for all of the food.
Back in Auburn, I noticed immediately that the traffic was back to being just as bad as it had been during the fall semester. See, before I went home for Christmas, I stayed a week or so past classes to wrap up a few things and boy was it nice being able to drive places in a legitimate amount of time during the school day. Being able to actually find a parking spot was also nice since it’s really hard to, say, exercise in the gym while driving your car around because all of the parking spots are taken. Like I said, all of those nice little things about living in a deserted college town are now gone. It’s a good thing that I already know all of the material from this semester because it’s really hard to hear the teacher while driving my car around in circles. Another thing that is back along with all of the traffic and lack of parking is the large number of idiotic pedestrians. See, I get that j-walking is sometimes faster, heck, I do it myself, but to cross the street at night not in a crosswalk while wearing a black hoody is just asking to get plastered by a car! Oh well, good ol’ natural selection at work, I suppose.
So, who would have guessed that college classes get harder as you progress? I had a sneaking suspicion that they did, but was my fingers crossed until this semester. They say that Sophomore means “the wise idiot,” well clearly that’s correct in my case. No one but an idiot would have signed up for as many hours as I am taking. Well, an idiot or a really smart person, and we all know which one is more likely for me.
Well, I guess that’s all for now. Back to the old grindstone with me. Hope that everyone has a good spring semester. Good luck and God bless.
P.S. On a totally unrelated note, the “brake” of a car will not actually break the car. It actually stops it which makes me wonder why it’s not called a “stop.” Ironically, you can actually break the car if you don’t use the brake.