I'm at That Point

Quite frankly, I'm at that point--that point I get to in every semester [all three of them]... where I'm finished with my classes before my professors seem to be. I feel as if my brain can take in no more, and I'm just itching for the semester to be over. My spring break has come and gone; it wasn't a break, really; I just worked extra hours to try to earn enough money to pay for my next semester. My List of Things to Do that I went into spring break with came back out looking every bit as full. My stress quota is at its max, it seems. I'm tired of graphing parabolas, I'm tired of reading, reading, reading, I'm tired of the Cravens elevators being out of commission (WHEN??)--I'm just simply tired of being tired.

My Math teacher fell down the stairs and spent four days in the hospital, my German teacher got hit by a car while riding her bicycle in a crosswalk [by a student, no less], and my Art teacher STILL hasn't given us our midterms back. I've got one class that I think every day I just cannot bear to go back to--it's an awful one--and yet, there I am, day after day after day(one step in front of the other).

Is this spring fever?

On the bright side... I found a penny lying on the sidewalk the other day; I picked it up and immediately brought the cost of my tuition down one whole cent. :)

And now I feel better.

Green Eggs and Ham and Squirrely Bread

I had promised Madison yesterday that I'd come and pick her up tonight after work and take her to my house. So after I visited Dee and her new baby [It's a boy!] at the hospital this afternoon, I headed home. I stopped in at Mom's and was greeted as if I were a celebrity by the little girls. The "bad news," according to Maddy, was that her mom didn't have to work tonight after all and so she couldn't spend the evening with me like we had planned. This was just about the time that the parents were to come and pick the girlys up. Well, they worked me over enough that I ended up giving in and taking them home with me anyway. Shanna--Maddy's mom--came just as we were pulling out of the driveway. Madison was so disappointed that I arranged to take her home in a couple hours. How exciting to go to Kris's house. So instead of having the productive afternoon I thought I was going to have, we instead filled our sippy cups with Sierra Mist, we ate Starbursts that settled in our teeth, we read "Green Eggs and Ham," and we learned how to tie our shoes--"the squirrel goes around the tree trunk and you pull his head through." Hannah was NOT impressed when her dad came, but I convinced her she needed to be a cheerful little girl anyway. When I dropped Maddy off at home, she said, "Thank you, Kristina, for letting Hannah and me come to your house." What a sweety.

It should have been no surprise when Dr. G asked me to go on the Internet to research some Squirrely bread; after all, I had spent quite a bit of time last week trying to locate somewhere--anywhere--where we can order his Birdseye Ketchup from. Why, it's the only ketchup that doesn't have onions or garlic in it. This came after the Winn Dixie across the way was unfortunate enough to have to close its doors for good. So in the meantime, he petitions Krogers to carry this wonderful product. I finally found a website that would let us order this humble ketchup. So Dr. G goes to Washington for a little getaway weekend and leaves behind his orders to go ahead and get the ketchup. The day we go to place the order, we get a letter from Krogers in response to his "inquiry," and yes, they have decided to carry the product--available within 2 to 3 weeks. The Doc gets back from Washington, rejoices in the Kroger news, and proceeds to ask me to research this new bread he has found--Squirrely bread. All natural, no flour. What am I exactly? The local food barn?

Ah well... I'm enjoying my spring break this week. It's not any less busy--it's just that I can procrastinate doing my homework without being penalized for it the next day. I've got two papers to write and a book to read. I've started one of the papers, but couldn't bear to finish it--an analysis on the piece of art I picked out at the museum about a month ago. Instead, I went over to Martin's office tonight and attempted to file my taxes. I thought I was doing pretty good, but by the end of the night, Sharon was literally begging me to just go to H&R Block. If she'd just answer my questions, we'd be getting along fine. And saving a lot of money too! Thank God for the Hope Credit.

It's midnight now, and I just remembered that I had been inspired earlier to wash my sheets. And... uh... well, they're not on my bed yet. Gotta go.

Bombing the Black-Eyed Stalker

Well, today we had a bomb threat at school, or so it was rumored. When Igot to the Fine Arts Building to go into my most-dreaded class of the day, I was stopped at the door by a lady who told me no one is allowed in the building. The fire alarms were going, and continued to do so, for about twenty minutes. This was, of course, while it was sleeting, and the wind was blowing. Very Chilly! The police came, and the firetrucks came, and the students huddled together to stay warm. So what is there to do during the whole thing? Why, chat, of course. This little Taiwanese girl came upto the door where I was standing, and we started talking; we talked for the entire twenty minutes-- noses dripping, eyes watering--some quality bonding,to be sure. She's over here getting her Masters. She learned English in six months and is now taking German. She was so cute. I told her I'd helpher with her German if she wanted me to, and she just jumped up and down with excitement. German isn't a requirement for her; she's just taking it because she's "interested" in it. And then we got to talking about NYC, and I was giving her advice on how to travel there and get around. She was thrilled. She can't go home this summer, so she wants to do some traveling,and NYC is a place she wants to go.

We eventually were allowed back into the building to begin our classes. I was grateful that it was that class in particular that was cut short. All we did was listen to Blues music. I don't like Blues, although I think I could become pretty good in authoring some verses. I didn't know this, but Blues songs typically have a 12 bar structure, comprised of 3-line verses. The first two lines of the verse are exactly the same, and the third line just rhymes with the other two. The purpose of Blues is to help you work through your troubles, and you do so by wailing about them. I can see how it could work, but boy, does it ever sound awful.

Mrs. P shocked the socks off of us today. She tottered into the room this morning touting sunglasses and a HUGE black eye with a bandaid on it. Itlooked terrible. Nobody said a word, but you could feel the tension--even shock--in the air instantly. It really was shocking! She is usually in such tight control. She didn't say anything for quite a little bit, then she said, "This is the result of missing the last step, falling flat on my face, and then spending several hours in the emergency room getting stitches. I really don't feel well." That was plain to see. She muddled through it, but you could even tell by her writing that she wasn't "right."We had time to work in class, so Jake (TA) kind've took over with helpingus. Mrs. P sat there, her eyes closed, head drooping. It was unnerving.

And now for news on my parking lot stalker... I thought maybe I had broken the blue van from stalking my parking place, and yesterday, I decided to start parking back where usually do. Sure enough, when I got out of class... he was there again.. This time, he even had his blinker on!! And he nodded at me with just a glimmer of a smile as I walked by... as if Iwere his long lost bud'! I just cannot tolerate such goings on. Back to the drawing board...

Squeaky Wheels

Well, I've had a very productive evening at the library getting caught up in my homework, so I'm in the mood now to write a little update. When I came out of the library at 10:30 p.m., there was a campus policeman sitting outfront by the fountain. I had my headphones on and was walking very briskly as if on a mission. Then I saw/half-heard him say something to me. I yanked one head phone out and said, "I'm sorry?" "Would you like to have an escort?" he repeated. Now Kris wouldn't know what to do with an escort if she had one every day, and tonight was certainly no exception. "Oh, I thinkI'll be fine," I said quickly, "but, thank you!" Now wasn't that nice of him? Although it's a well-known thing that the campus police will escort you to your car upon request, I've never had one offer to do so..just out ofthe blue. I think it might have had something to do with the fact that today is the first day of the trial of Lucas Goodrum, the ex-student who stands accused of murdering Freshman Katie Autrey two years ago. The details are rather gruesome, but she was found almost-dead in her dorm; shehad been sprayed with hairspray and set on fire. She died several days later. You can imagine the community outrage. They moved the trial to Owensboro so that he would get "a fair trial." Anyhow.. security is supposedly a little better on campus these days, but I suspect with this being the first day of the trial, memories were refreshed--hence, the cop-in-waiting.

I finally got my culture paper back. I got an A, and the prof said it was"an excellent paper and [that he] enjoyed reading it;" however, he said it was "written in an impersonal kind of way--but I realize the information comes from your life and upbringing..." Because it was impersonal, it keptme from getting an A+. You may think this is a trivial matter, but not so in this class! We just had our first exam. Four questions, it was. Three short-paragraph and one big essay. and 55 minutes in which to get it done. Oh, it was painful. He had told us that students have a bit of a struggleto get done in the time allotted. Well, helloooo... HERE's your sign! I had "budgeted" my time for the short answers, and when time was up, it was abandoned, and I went on to the next thing. There were no "early finishers," like there usually are. We were all still writing like mad when he called time. So there you have it... four half-written essays. My intention was to go back and finish my first ones after I made sure I had written enough on the big essay, but no... not on this test. Now I have a problem with this because 1.) this is not a writing class, and 2.) it is physically impossible to do the amount of writing you are asked to do in the time allotted us--and it's just not fair to the class. So anyway...that is why it is especially important to get every point I can aside from the tests.

This professor has to be my least favorite of all the profs I have encountered to date. He has mannerisms that get on my nerves, such as slurping water out of a coffee cup the entire class period and demanding you talk and then staring you down when you do so. He's just not a very friendly and approachable person. And I'm not the only one in my class who thinks so. I have varying degrees of fondness for all my other professors. I get along fine with my math teacher, although it is very important you stay on her good side (do your homework, give her answers when prompted). She gave us a lecture today on "squeaky wheels," and "your math had better be squeaking," she said, "because your math quizzes and exam are coming up." She said this after she had found out that the majority of the class hadn't done their homework. Then we had time to work on homework in class, and she came over to where one of the Lady Toppers was sitting. "And talk about squeaky wheels," she said--then laughed. I looked over and here this girl was...studying zoology when she was supposed to be working on her Math. She had more nerve than I would've, but that's simply what school becomes--the squeaky wheel syndrome. You have to prioritize and give attention to the thing that screams the loudest. Mrs. P does well though in"taking care of us," as a mother would do. She makes sure we know when thewater is going to be cut off in our building so that we can go to the bathroom, and she lets us know when the roads are going to be closed, etc.

I enjoy my German teacher, but I think she's easier on the class as a whole than is entirely necessary. I also enjoy my art teacher. Last Thursday, he had us do nothing but draw the entire time, so you can believe I was in my element. I thoroughly enjoyed that. We had to use a grid to duplicate three drawings. I thought everyone would have an easy time of it with a grid, and I really didn't think it was that big of a deal. And then I looked at my neighbor's drawing. Oh.

One of our assignments for this art class is to go and visit a major art museum, then write a paper on one of the pieces of art that appealed to us. Because I had planned to go to Louisville to see Concordia College's concert, I decided to make this a weekend trip and take in the art museum at the same time. So last Sunday a week ago, Sharon and I found ourselves navigating our way through the Speed Art Museum. The most amazing thing to me was that there were other people there... voluntarily. The whole experience really wasn't so bad. I've always had bad impressions of the idea of art museums. It was, however, far more interesting than I would've ever thought possible. A lot of those paintings document things from history, and the sizes of some of them are just amazing--huge old things. Granted, there are Some... and then there are Others.

But anyway.. we, ofcourse, got started off on the wrong foot. Tap, tap, on the shoulder. There stood an old woman, aka art museum employee. She informed us of TheRules: I had to put the pen away I was carrying and substitute it for a museum-provided golf pencil stub, we had to step back from the paintings [not so close, please], the only pictures I could take were of those whichthe museum owned, and absolutely NO FLASH AT ALL. I squelched my growing sense of irritation and did as I was asked...but I kept holding on to my pen"on the inside."

I had a minor victory this morning in the parking lot. There is this old codger with an unfriendly face and horn-rimmed glasses who has figured out where I faithfully park. Every Tuesday and Thursday when I get out to my car, there he is, just sitting there, waiting for my return. So far, I have resisted the urge to pound some dents into his van as I walk by, because quite frankly, it has become a great source of irritation. I don't enjoy being stalked. Some days I try to find a different route to my car or I'll put my disguise on (my hood) andweasel into my car from another way. But no--he's always there waiting, waiting. The final straw was when I was extra-late coming out of my German class the other day. I thought surely he wouldn't be sitting there still waiting for me. But yes, there he was--STILL waiting. He blocks the aisle and...well, argh! So this morning, I decided that for the first(ish) time this semester, I am going deviate from my usual parking place and am going to park in the next row over right by the parking lot entrance where it would be much more unhandy for him to just sit there on the prowl. And so I did. And for once, he wasn't there. Score! He either couldn't find where I'd gone, or he had found another victim to prey on, or just maybe he has the flu like everyone else. But I, for one, felt that the victory was mine for the taking. And soI took it.

Things at work are still laden with drama. Ann's sister-in-law died on Sunday, Jamie's daughter had to be taken to the emergency room last weekend and needs to go see a doctor this week for an MRI, Jamie herself has been feeling ill recently, Ange's heat isn't working right so she has to keep running home to tend to the repairmen. Lori's mother is in the nursing home and has to come out because of no funds; therefore, she has resigned after working only three weeks. And Mason got in trouble for throwing a brownie on the bus. [The brownie, it seems, was unfortunate enough to bounce offthe driver's head.]

So Dr. G calls Mason up on the phone. It seems discipline is not his strong point. "Mason," he said. "We have a problem. Your principal called me and told me you were misbehaving on the bus.... Mason, even though this is America, if your principal calls me and says you're guilty, that's it. This is not a situation where you can lay out your case and have it decided on by a jury. You're guilty, and that'sthe end of it. BUT..." he continued. "Fortunately, there IS such a thing as parole for good behavior. Now in my day, I would've been beaten for an offense like this, but I understand that times have changed... Mason, Is that cow still sick? Well, for your punishment, you have to go out and..."I shall not repeat the exact words of the punishment because it was very tacky and quite gross... but suffice it to say that Mason had to go out and determine whether or not the sick cow was "with calf." "Dad," Charlie said when they called back a couple minutes later, "I think Mason has learned his lesson. That was really gross."

Ya think???