Semester From Hell
You all know about the fracas at the start of the semester — well, yes and no. It started with a bang and careened, seemingly out of control, for a couple of months. I went to all of my classes, I went to work, and I’m fairly sure that I even did work and homework, but really, it wasn’t until the start of November that I came out of my fog and noticed that I was attending college. No nasty comments, please, that’s just what happened. Sure, I partied the first two or three weekends, but, uh, aside from making out with some girls six to ten years my junior (which, honestly, wow, yes, please) and getting the sort of drunk about which I used to write corridos (see! I went to my Chicano Studies class after all!), not a lot came out of that. I got a number or two every weekend until I noticed that I didn’t call most of them, and the ones whom I did call either had boyfriends or could hear me falling apart when I called them.
“Uh, would you, uh, like to, you know, uh, OH FUCK I’M ON THE REBOUND AND I JUST WANT TO GO OUT ON A FUCKING DATE — I’LL PAY, I’LL PAY, JUST VALIDATE MY FUCKING EXISTANCE” doesn’t go over so well. Better to keep finding new ones and never call — or even better still get someone bold to call you. Note: I only called the women whom I actually thought were interesting, I just wanted some no-pressure dating which was still a lot of pressure, and, uh, WHAT? I DON’T SEE YOU LEADING SOME KIND OF FUCKING PERFECT LIFE!
Right. I was supposed to say more about Sarah before, but we’ve been living the secret agent life, even though we’ve met each other’s parents. I’m still trying to take things slowly.
Wednesday was the last Chicano Studies class, but I wish that there would have been more. There, I’ve said it. I liked that class. I feel like we barely scratched the surface of the material at hand, and there’s more material out there (I think). Even though it was the last class, it didn’t feel like the semester was over.
Thursday I stopped at my photo class to pick up my final project, which had been graded. B+. I told the professor that at the start of the semester I was shooting for “not dead” as my final grade and that by the end of November I was targetting “not failing,” so I was happy. Honestly, I phoned in the first few assignments, but actually felt like I had something on the last one. Unfortunately, time constraints left my printing, spotting, and mounting a little on the “not quite perfect” side. I don’t care. I picked up my portfolio and almost ran out of there to go see Gogol Bordello at First Avenue. FUCKING AMAZING, but like the epilogues of Conan the Barbarian movies say: “that’s a tale for another time.” Suffice it to say that Zach did not believe the truth. That good.
Maybe it was not having to go back to any classes this semester, maybe it was just excitement for the concert, I don’t know what, but Thursday night I felt just plain awesome. I went out and spent money that it turns out I didn’t have, but the semester is done! I don’t need to prop myself up for anything any more! Just work, but shit, ain’t no thang. I haven’t been the best employee this semester, but I like my job. As long as I don’t get fired, I’m cool.
I had a final this morning at 8:20am, after which I went into the darkroom for like six hours (with a break for food in the middle). The final was cake. I have another final on Monday, but I’m not sweating it. It’s done, it’s done, it’s done! HOORAY! HIP HIP HOORAY! HIP HIP HOORAY!
I don’t need any shopping therapy or party therapy, just regular therapy.
Okay, you can buy me some shoes if you like, but I don’t need them. I can quit any time I want. You’re the one with the problem, not me!
I’m done with MY shopping therapy.