Is This What "Working Order" Looks Like?
I feel pretty good. But I look like I just rolled out of bed. All the time. Suppose I should take what I can get, really.
So I'm finally back on my feet again, although I'm not going to start hitting up classes until tomorrow. The past few days have been basically make-up fests, with me trying to catch up on all the homework/essays/lectures I missed. I've got this epic 15-page research paper looming over me, but I don't think there's a chance in hell I'll finish it before the end of the year. I mean, reading week starts on monday, and then...finals. There's not going to be time for me to try to think up a shit-ton of information on the inherent spirituality in apocalyptic films and literature. (If you see this essay prompt for what it is, i.e. an excuse to watch an epic number of zombie flicks and then try to superimpose some kind of higher meaning onto them, then you get points.)
At the moment, I'm trying to explain the nature of Stonehenge in a paper I should have turned in last Friday. But the professor is very understanding. Um. Awesomely/creepily so.
Me: *drags self into office, weak and sickly* "Professor...I kind of have something I need to talk to you about."
My Art History Professor: *stares at me for a moment* "What class are you in again?"
Me: *facepalm* "Prehistoric to Early Renaissance."
My Art History Professor: "You're the one with the big hair who actually participates, right?"
Me: *wonders if she will forever be "the one with the big hair"* "Yeah."
My Art History Professor: "Well, you've been absent lately."
Me: "Yeah, about that. I'm sort of in a condition."
My Art History Professor: *looks me up and down* "I'm about eighty-seven percent sure you're not carrying my child, so it's got to be some other medical thing, right?"
Me: *blinks* "I...uh...what?" *decides the reins of this conversation have just been jerked out of her hands* "Only eighty-seven percent?"
My Art History Professor: *shrugs* "Anything's possible."
Me: "Yeah. Um. Anyway, I need an extension on that paper. I'm having surgery."
My Art History Professor: "Oh. 'Kay."
And that was that. It was a rather odd exchange. But then again, he's a hippie who lives in Sedona and takes the class on guided meditations every other Wednesday, so I don't really know what I was expecting.
In other news, next week promises to be, if nothing else, a non-stop writing jubilee. Because I'm heading off to England in May, pyrrhiccomedy and I are going to frontload a ton of installments of The Chosen End. It's going to rock.
+