Black Swan

And so the countdown begins. Exactly seven days from Monday I will be in school. Exactly seven days from tonight I will be contemplating creative ways I can contract a severe imaginary disease prohibiting me from ever leaving my bedroom. I received my schedule Wednesday. You know what I love? Being the first to show up to a class and then having the pleasure of praying someone you know walks through the door. Wait... I stand corrected *praying someone you "LIKE, and can TOLERATE" walks through the door because there's honestly nothing worse than being stuck in a room full of people you despise (the story of my life).
I'm going to sound like a major asshole, but I've broken it down into the types of people I cannot stand to be in a class with

• That kid who asks numerous times to have the instructions repeated
• That kid who needs an additional five minutes to copy down what's on the board
• That "know-it-all" kid who smugly raises their hand for every question and then does a silent cheer when they get the answer right
• That kid who asks "aren't you going to check our homework" because they're the only kid that completed the assignment
• That kid who doesn't do any work during group projects

Just thinking about this raises my blood pressure. The idea of having to see all the people I so successfully avoided all summer five days a week, makes me reconsider taking an anger management class. Why can't you rage quit life...

On the flip side, I went shopping with my friends yesterday and I now know what I'm wearing on the first day of school. I find that the mornings are a lot less stressful when you plan ahead because the days I blindly choose my outfits also tend to be the most humiliating. Coincidence? I think not. I woke up one morning five minutes prior to the time I was supposed to be leaving the house. In a quick haste I threw on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. Which in retrospect doesn't sound too bad. It's no fashion statement, but hardly an outfit I would be embarrassed of. I failed to notice that the shorts had a gaping hole in the crotch area. I looked like a homeless prostitute. So the moral of that story kids is if you end up procrastinating your wardrobe choices you'll find yourself questioning why people are offering to buy you lunch or asking you if you're experiencing "any problems at home".

A Love Story… In Milk from Catsnake on Vimeo.

After all that angst I feel like I should make it up to you with this overly cheery and cute video. Kind of...