My alarm goes off at five forty. I want nothing more than to burrow deeper into the pillow. Snooze twice before getting up. I have to go early to study for a 9 AM exam. Studying the night before didn't work out as planned 'cos I kept daydreaming about sleeping. I'm only about half an hour ahead of schedule but that means light years in traffic time. Breakfast consists of five Pillsbury mini pancakes. They're delicious and only take fifty seconds to cook. Genius in my book. Mint and tarragon tea. I break off a twig of rosemary for my water bottle on the way to the car.
Traffic is bad today. The soccer mom behind me keeps checking on her kids in the backseat. Bitch, you are going to get it if you hit me. The cars play stop-and-go until 123 south. I open the windows and crank up the music. Today's playlist is called "AB! OB! CB! BC! GK!" and consists of Billie Holiday's Ken Burns Jazz, The Hood Internet's Volume Three Mixtape, The Gray Kid's Free Music and My Morning Jacket's The Tennessee Fire. 16-wheelers in the left lane is just plain wrong. The white van in the right lane reminds me of van paranoia of the DC sniper days. Zigzag, mothertrucker, zigzag!
Lot K. I get a prime parking spot. Front row of the nook. This makes me happy. I kill the engine, recline the seat and hit the books. Flash cards are made. They're pink. I should pull a Legally Blonde and spray them with the Country Apple body spray in the backseat. I study and memorize as best as I can. Some girl in a red Ford Focus parks next to me. She makes me mad by leaving her engine running for ten straight minutes to fix her makeup. Girl, you must hate the ozone.
Exam time. Wow, I know more than I thought. Kudos to me. I finish around nine forty-five. Walk to FAB and put my stuff in the locker. We have too much matboard and ink. Gesso, fixative and paper towels eat what little locker space is left. Posted inside the door are various photos, the Valentine's Day card from Thamm and the Puerto Rico postcard from Yassine. All we need is a locker organizer and an "I heart Zack Morris" sticker. I have no one to talk to yet. Fasick, Kirk, and Patten are still in class (Art Now, Art Now and 180). Bates won't be in for another half an hour or so depending on how early her brother gets up.
I go into B206. I always check my email and such in there since there isn't a class until half ten. Dean has emailed me saying that Lemonade Lists looks nice and that he wants to talk to me about honors. This makes me nervous. I text Bates about it. Accidentally send it to Dean, womp womp. I feel like I should be embarrassed but all I do is laugh. Patten's class is finished. I stand next to her computer while she has a mild freak out over a Photoshop file. Watkins comes by and reassures her that it was saved. We walk to B200. Frederick's Print 1 class is in there. Oh, there's that witch from the other day. She mean mugs me. Whatever. I hate you. I go down to sculpture to meet with Dean. He's in a meeting with Ashcraft. I visit with Valdy about her tree stump. God, she speaks quietly. I find myself leaning in sometimes to hear. She would make an awesome librarian. Wearing black is never good when visiting the sculpture folk. I get plaster and sawdust all over my black shirt and tights just by walking through the room. My coat was covered the last time I came to visit Iron Shannon.
Dean is back. He's got a million and nine things to do today. He speaks quite fast and there is constant sighing. We chitchat a bit about honors while moving frames for the skylights. I love their fire engine red color. Turner and Bates show up. Bates and I mill about in front of the [container (space)] since we have nothing better to do. The weather is beautiful and I don't want to be cooped up in the print studio. Ashworth is loading wooden racks to be thrown away. We help. I scrape my wrist but don't realize it until Stanley's class. I hope I don't have tetanus. Ashworth, Bates and I are all wearing green. Smiley pops in from her drawing II class. There is mild drama with her roommate. She vents for a bit and then leaves. Dean and Turner install the first pane of glass. Though cloudy (hey, it's donated shelf glass), it looks great. Turner is halfway down the ladder when Dean lets go to get something. Unsupported ladders make me nervous. Ladders make me nervous. Free heights make me nervous. I hold the ladder.
Bates is hungry. I run upstairs to get my wallet just in case something tempts me. Patten tells me that the witch complained our class was mean to her. It is what it is. Run back down. I go with Bates to the JC. It is five before noon which means that the queues are PACKED. The shortest line is in the Patisserie and she gets a ham & swiss on croissant. My lunch (sliced strip steak over romaine and diced apple) is still in front of the container. We go back and continue to stand, this time with food. Duncan and Moi are now there. I chuckle a little bit every time I see him since moi, pronounced as moy, means pubic hair in Lao. Turner gets in a verbal tussle with some birds. "That's right! This is my territory, bitch!"
Busch comes out for a bit. I don't know what she's working on but it is a goldenrod yellow satin and glints in the midday sun. She has a galloping wind up toy that looks like Don Quixote. I send a video of it to my sister who responds with "riiiiiiiiight". Turner wants a smoke. I text Boek asking for one. This is a joke since he never responds to my texts and, knowing that I don't smoke, is constantly asking Bates and me if he can bum a cig.
Moi is spraying a large board with gray spray paint. Apparently the wind has shifted because the next thing I know Ashworth is moving him so the drift doesn't hit our food. Goodness, Duncan has a booming voice. Holy hell, a text from Boek asking if I still need a cig. No, we no longer need or want your cigarette but thank you very much. I'm incredulous that he has responded. Bates and I clean the remaining pane of glass. She accidentally sprays me on the arm. I'm tempted to hose her with the water. No, really tempted. I tremble with glee as I imagine her walking into her Arguments and Policies class dripping wet. I relunctantly relinquish the hose.
It is almost time for my next class. The eye candy, as Busch refers to them, are engrossed with whatever it is they're doing on the roof and we leave them to it. Print studio is packed. Naked John is in there working on a woodcut. I direct him to a barren since the press is occupied. The guy whose hand I played Florence Nightingale to is there. Fool stabbed himself with a woodcut tool a few weeks back. Pity I don't find him attractive. That had meet-cute potential written all over it.
Boek comes out of his class. His hat continues the green theme. We stand outside on the ramp for his scheduled smoke break. Bates is nervous about her impending presentation. We all part ways. Stanley arrives relatively on time. The class is half empty. It must be spring fever. We go over the papers from last class. Sam Chen's tribute to Giacometti. Artist profiles and artist statements. I jot a note reminding myself to bring in the grocery bag prints in for the final class.
Class is over. I go back in the print studio. Tomorrow's plan is prep work. Tearing and tabbing the Rives. Print registration is my nemesis. Bates returns. She is ecstatic that her presentation has gone well. I grab my things from the locker. Dean and Turner are across the hall in animation (animation? film?) class. Duncan is outside smoking with Christine. We leave.
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I started this play by play out of boredom. During this time I watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Ghost Adventures (Travel channel is good times), had dinner (roast leg of lamb with acorn squash and Caesar salad) and dessert (turtle brownie, vanilla ice cream and coffee) and contemplated recounting the rest of my yesterday. I took a few breaks to chitchat with Svy about going to the temple for Lao New Year and to Dean about gardening. It is now close to three in the morning. My story ends here. If you read this entire thing- I love you. So much.
Sananikone out.
i read the whole thing
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