Monday, November 26, 2007


When I was in high school, the evil powers-that-were insisted on mandatory gym class for all students. I remember one short stretch of time (also, not so coincidentally, known as “when I was in high school”) when I was pretty much never prepared for PE. It was *gasp!* as if I just didn’t want to frickin’ be there. I know, I know. Hard to believe. The drama major didn’t want to spend 55 minutes in some other pubescent’s armpit.

The worst was when we were (accidental alliteration!) forced into the gym’s pool. Half pee, half chlorine, half Band-aids. Billions of years ago, a primordial stew with this exact same chemical make-up was struck by lightening and subsequently bore life.

Occasionally, when I forgot a towel, I’d just pull something from the lost and found and use that to dry off. Because, well, I’d rather spend the rest of the day dry and disgusting than wet and disgusting. A forgotten, rank tee shirt will only do so much, though, and never was this more apparent than when I tried to pull on my socks.

Imagine it: A wet, sweaty sock, yanked over a wet, wrinkly foot, the smell of someone else’s discarded tee shirt still sweet in the air. It was the most physically uncomfortable I’d ever been.

Before today, that is. Today is the day that starts the week that starts the three week period from scholastic hell, and comparing it to putting on a dirty sock is generous. This week I have two final projects due (one of which puts me in front of a real, honest-to-goodness judge), and then two weeks of exams.

Of course, just as lunch followed gym, good follows bad here, too. Unless Awooka comes early, we’ll have a brand new crying/pooping Christmas present four days after my last exam. (22 days and counting! *gasp!*)

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