I always feel like a salad on the eve of school opening. Hey, it’s not excitement—that I am sure of.
Decided to go to bed at an hour before midnight, not knowing I’d just be tossing and turning myself all the while ‘til twelve. Woke up at around half past three, lingered in the intarwebs for quite awhile, and flew out of the house at six. Quite surprisingly, was able to arrive at the train station earlier than expected, and reached school sweet school in a matter of minutes.
Ah, the adrenaline. It hadn’t lifted my spirits that much though; I was in my nonchalant-talk-to-the-hand mode most of the time. More like a defense from having some misguided soul open up a vapid conversation and pollute my mind with unsolicited summer stories. Sure, I have my fair share of the latter and I wanted to share them with someone, but perhaps that someone had better things to do than go to school on the first day of junior year.
Two new faces, for me at least, have proven that it’s always worthy to bring my sleep-deprived self present on the first day.
COMM 2073 Professor, who has a subtle resemblance to Patricia Ismael, seems mysterious to me in a way. It might look like she’s open with a lot of things in her résumé; babbling about her family’s lawyer lineage, work history, educational background and what have you. But, hold it, she told the class not to ask about that one thing that didn’t really matter: her age. Moreover, she has this habit of saying things then stopping in mid-sentence, leaving us hanging. Oh strike the m-word. I think it’s more appropriate to say that she’s intriguing. Just intriguing.
And STAT 1013 Professor. Looks decent as compared to our previous math prof, until I saw his hands wander through his crotch a number of times while discussing a handful of his conflicting class policies. I could only shake my head in slight disappointment. He might look like a good family man, but looks can be very deceiving. I might be judging him a bit too much, but oh well, benefit of the doubt. I’ve been uncomfortable dealing with aged sexual perverts men since God-knows-when.
And who would forget the old faces? How I’ve missed them. It doesn’t matter if they don’t feel the same way for as long as they make me smile which I don’t intend to do by myself, by the way even without meaning to, this year would surely be worth the hassle. The need to distance myself if ever something blossoms would still remain nonetheless.
See you tomorrow.