It's a good week if I'm asking myself that on Wednesday or Thursday. It's a bad week when it's not even halfway through Monday and I"m begging the universe to somehow make it Friday.
This week, the first full week back to school, was a good one. I'm completely and utterly exhausted, and I feel like a social failure for it being only roughly ten o'clock and I'm ready to crash and burn, but I could care less. I adore my dorm bed-nest-thing, love sleep, and need to see what the weather's doing in the morning to decide if I'm making the forty-five minute drive home to hang with the family and get the oil changed in my lovely Oldsmobile.
The highlight of my week - for the most part - came on Tuesday when I had no less than four people cramming themselves into my tiny, under-the-stairs single as the Fire Marshal returned to see if I could actually live in the room. He took measurements, snubbed any and all questions I had, treated me like I was five and his job was incredibly difficult and required absolute quiet and concentration (which pissed me off beyond belief), and then left after saying that this was a conversation I wasn't allowed in on.
Before that, though, a very wonderful person in our Campus Safety department (they're lovely people, as people, and very willing to help anybody) took me around to the rooms they were thinking of moving me into, and let me see them. What do I do on the way back to the car? I slip on the snow, get airborne, land on my damn hip, and spill a little of my Starbucks peppermint mocha. I sat on my hat during class the next day, and my ass is still bruised.
Anyway, they'd all left and the next thing I know, while I'm knitting, Buildings and Grounds comes knocking on my door, saying they need to look at my headboard. So, I heard from them before I heard from Residential Education that they were allowing me to remain in my room for the remainder of the semester. Fine by me. As a result, they sawed off the cross-pieces of my headboard in order to not impede my progress to the window.
Fine by me, I just wanna stay in the damn room.
Side note: People have issues walking up and down the stairs in heels. I know this because I can hear them very clearly, and they sound like elephants.
Another side note: One of the frat houses is having a Jersey Shore party. As I've never seen an episode (and don't want to) I'm quite alright with staying in my little room, finishing this blog post, checkin' out Facebook updates, and then crawling into bed and sleeping for roughly ten hours. That sounds like a fantastic plan.
I feel kind of bad, though, in the mornings, because we have a little coffee pot (only four cups) and, well, what I consider a cup of coffee is actually probably two, maybe two and a half to anyone using a mug that might have come from your mother's cupboard. It's kind of like I'm making coffee for myself, as I seem to be the only person in the house drinking it on a regular basis. Or, more like dumping it into the travel mug right before I head out the door to my first class. But that works, too.
Then again, maybe I make up for the monopolizing of the coffee pot by baking every Thursday. Last week it was vanilla whoopie pies, and yesterday it was molasses cookies. Next week might have peanut butter, as I don't have any food allergies to work around.
I didn't realize there were more than one Sherlock Holmes movies recently produced, and therefore had Netflix deliver the wrong one. Takes a special kind of person to pull that off.
Side Note: Elephants. That's really all I have to say.
Knitting is a wonderful stress relief. Just throwin' that out there.
And on that note, I'm going to crawl into bed and not crawl out for another ten hours.