Parade of the Grotesque

After this week's onslaught of class assignments I finally burned out yesterday afternoon. Once "burn-out" occurs, an automated system kicks in and sends me staggering back to the couch where I zone out to the background chatter of DVD's we watched two days hence.

At some point in the evening I switch back to life and find that I am standing in the grocery store beside Esther. I'm holding a box of pop tarts in my hand, wondering how on earth I got there.

We pass the beer aisle and she recommends I pick up a six-pack for myself. I respond by saying I will pass on the beer because I haven't really done anything this week to warrant treating myself. She nods her understanding and pushes the cart away down the next aisle.

I start to walk away, but change my mind and grab a 12-pack. It's been a long week after all.

I sleep poorly that night, waking up every hour with the notion that I should go into the living room and work on my Spanish homework. Finally, I get up at 6 and get to work on it.

She baked some cookies for me last night, and that little happiness helps me focus on my homework. I finish my assignment, shower, shave, and get to class early for once. Class is bearable. I actually understand what's going on in there, and I am neither annoyed, self-conscious, nor awkward.

Huzzah.