January's theme:"So take a deep breath and count back from ten/And maybe you'll be alright" A Separate Lid Behind Closed Eyes

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Jason recommends the album, Girly-sound Tapes by Liz Phair

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August 26, 2002 // 3:14 p.m. // Junior year. Day one.

So we all know I am officially a college junior, but we don't all know how my first day as an upperclassmen in four years went.

If there's one thing I've learned after two years, it's that the first week or two of school means bad traffic. While it was nowhere near as bad this year, it did help that I left my house early, as the line to board the express shuttle was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

The Shuttle

Normally when the line is long, you say to yourself, "I won't make this shuttle, but I will make the next one." This line had me thinking I'd be waiting until at least the third or fourth shuttle. The line to get on was at least 300-400 people long. It stretched about a half a block. Luckily, the luxurious leather interior first class team bus rolled around, with a capacity much larger than that of the traditional bus. I still arrived just after 8, making me (and many others) late for their first class. My only thought of my boring first class is that the teacher looks a lot like G.W. Bush. Oh, yeah. And we already know who the class suck up is. He answered all of the teacher's questions, and talked to him after class. I remind you, it's only the first day.

9:00. Drama.

A very small class of maybe 12 or so students. A lot of interaction. We played that age old game of going around in a circle and saying our name as well as the people's names before us. Thinking back on it now, I can still remember everyone's names. Of course, there were only 12 people there.

10:00. Writing.

Our teacher looks to be our age. I thought she was a student. She graduated from college the same year I graduated from high school. That's how young she is. Despite having one of the most cheerful names I've ever heard, she really isn't the happiest 24 year-old in the world. She teaches seven classes at three different universities, she lost a spouse while rock climbing, and the last thing she wants to do is hear our, "lovey dovey romance tales." No problems here, I say. And get this. 12 people in her first hour class got married over the summer alone. And you didn't believe me about half of the population being married.

This is also the class from which you'll likely be hearing about my crush. I want to give her an alias, but as of now, all I know about her is she has the same last name as I do, she wants to be a dental hygenist and she's good at looking at people when they're talking.

11:00. Poetry

The teacher teaching this class is also the adviser of the lit mag on campus. He remembered me from the author's gala last April, and I still have no idea how all of these people on the staff were able to remember my name and face as well as they did.

This class could also feature crush number 2 as well as Tara from drama, but we didn't get around to names, meaning it may be awhile before I get this crush's name, and will have to see what Tara is wearing tomorrow in drama to see if it matches that of the girl in poetry. But seeing the similarity in the subjects, attire and the way she looks, it's safe to say it's her, which is a good thing, because it's always nice to be in two different classes with the same person. You can cover for one another.

I strongly dislike my new backpack. It's too small, even if it does look "cool." And on top of this, the one day I leave my cell phone in my backpack, someone calls me. Perhaps I should call them back, but the call was from Ogden and I don't know a single person there. My mind is going a million miles a minute thinking of who it could be. Perhaps I should just call the person back and find out. It's so very me to think about something over and over when the answer is right in front of me.

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