You might have inferred from the end of yesterday’s post that today would not be much of a celebratory day given my three hour grad class at the end of an already long work day, and never was a truer inference rendered. I’ll be brief:
Class is supposed to end at 8:20. We finally dismissed at 8:40 (although one ballsy girl packed up and left at the normal dismissal time!). I almost bitch slapped another of my classmates, a woman in my online project group who seems to think she is the only person in graduate school who also holds down a full-time job. The extra 20 minutes of class time added an hour to my parking deck fee, so it cost me four bucks to escape. I had three dollar bills and a ten. Now I have seven one dollar coins. Great. And until this moment I have not eaten since noon, unless you count that handful of craisins and nuts I shoved into my trap as I circled campus three times in search of a free space before I finally gave up and parked in the aforementioned deck. I’m now speed-eating the most disgusting Lean Cuisine meal ever packaged, and my cat is practically climbing my leg like a tree because apparently he’s hungry as well. Finally, I had to stop at the grocery store on my way home because otherwise I wouldn’t be eating lunch or breakfast tomorrow, and as I was thrashing my way into the house with an armful of groceries, books and dog, a friend called to see how my evening was. When I told her she had the nerve to laugh jovially at me, and now she must suffer. (You know who you are. Beware.)
In celebration of day two of my birthweek I think I’ll spend the next 30 minutes on my yoga mat. Well, maybe 31. Because tomorrow that’s how old I’ll be.