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.