Spell

Days 16 - 18: The prospects of posting an update everyday are becoming less and less likely as time goes on. I find myself constantly buried in work. And, while that is a good thing, particularly considering that I'm managing to keep up with it all, it means that a few things have had to be sacrificed in order to make staying on task as feasible and least taxing as possible.

Translation: It's getting busy. Very busy.

Last week was strange. I was sick with some kind of cold/flu sort of thing and struggled to make it to classes. Things got dicey. I almost started to fall behind. I found myself staying up later than normal, fighting through the sickness, trying to complete homework. The night of Day 18 I gave up and went to bed early. As much as I wanted never to fall behind, I had to admit that the late nights were defeating the purpose. I needed a good night's rest. So I got one.

The following day (Day 19, for those keeping count [Friday]), I felt 1000 times better in terms of my health but went to school feeling under prepared and overwhelmed. I only had the one class that day but, still, I arrived early, sweating, actively trying not to grind my teeth. I couldn't remember what, if anything, was due. I braced myself to take a couple lumps and maybe look a little foolish and found a seat.

Class went fine.

Turns out, during one of my semi-lucid fever dreams, I'd managed to do all the necessary readings. My retention was... dicey - a lot of things ended up "cross-mojinated" - but I managed ok. In fact, everything was just swell. And then I realized that I'd lost my inner monologue.

Rather, my classmates and I realized that my inner monologue had become a monologue. And my voice carries.

A woman in class was arguing that having a second Constitutional Convention  would be "UnAmerican". She went on at some length, pasting together partially formed ideas with borrowed dogmatic nonsense. I laughed to myself (or so I believed) and thought (as in "said aloud"):

What are you talking about? Parroting inherited dogma is no substitute for making a reasoned argument. [Mockingly] "I gots me a bed made up o'American flags! My pubes spell out the whole Constitution in cursive. Don't tread on me, bitch! 9/11! 'Merica!"

There was an exquisite moment of silence in which I believed that one of my worst nightmares had come true. That is, everyone in the class could read my mind, and I couldn't stop thinking inappropriate things.

The kid to my right stifled a laugh. The woman turned and looked at me utterly nonplussed with a hint of rudderless indignation. I smiled involuntarily.

She went crimson and seemed to swallowed what must have been a very choice string of expletives, turning to face forward, folding her hands on her desk like she was in Sunday School.

I stayed after class, taking my time, carefully gathering my things, praying (Please, Jesus!) that she had a class to get to or something. In my fevered mind's eye, she was standing just outside the door, waiting to vomit up the hateful gooey invective she had been forced to chew back during class. I was in no mood to explain or otherwise defend myself.

I was, after all, a sick man.

After nearly 10 minutes, I peeked into the hallway. Seeing her gone, I made my escape, waddling under the weight of my bookbag, smirking.

Dear Karma: I didn't mean it. Honest.