Where Y'all From? Bitch.

It’s time to open the little door mark “nine” on your advent calendars.

Yesterday was the last day of class before the holiday break. I feel relieved to have my tests done, yet strange to not have the structure of school. I’m not great with changes in my habitrail. I might go stir-crazy until spring class starts. All that time spent at my gay coffee house without chapters to read. Torture.

 'I'm from a place where
we don't end our
sentences with
prepositions."

For some odd reason my English classmates had started to bond in a way I’ve never seen before. Like a group trapped during jury duty, or exhibiting Stockholm Syndrome they started to form a unity. Last night my last final was a time of release; I was surprised to be met with Christmas cards and homemade cake from my fellow classmates.

The big haired gal with the obsession for acrylic sweaters wanted to have my Facebook contact. Really, you didn’t get my Designing Women- How to remember prepositions tool, yet you want to be friends on Facebook? I’m very sorry, if you never saw Designing Women, we can’t be friends.

Before the test began, the hugs came out. As if we survived weeks after crashing our plane in the Andes. Resisting the urge to demand that a classmate stop pressing her man made fibers against my person, I brushed off the Facebook requests to deflect onto the final. Still this was better than the 19 year old guy, for whom showering is a monthly option, showed up to my first class, declaring his drunkenness, and wanting to squeeze my arms, “hard and slow.”

I guess I underestimated the power of school stress and test anxiety. Or just crazy people.