Weirdos At The Window

The atrium of my apartment building smells like bologna. Don’t ask me why. It’s one of those unanswerable questions, like why would a junior high school boy put deodorant on his face? Unfathomable. Nevertheless, smell of bologna it does, and that isn’t the worst problem.

The worst problem is something that I think I’ve mentioned before. Now, I’m no crazed hermit without furniture except for sixteen computers, wearing an aluminum foil hat so that aliens can’t read my mind or anything. I’m no enfeebled old woman with thirty seven cats to her name mewing around her efficiency apartment. I’m not even a begrudging middle aged redneck who won’t shut up about the Good Old Days, nevermind that he never saw them in the first place and that they weren’t really all that great besides. I mention this disclaimer because what I’m about to say next may make it seem that I am one of these types of people. So here’s the truth: I hate people hanging out outside my apartment.

I sit here, on my couch, engrossed in a book. Or maybe I freak out about school and my ever dwindling reserves of cash because of it, and fractically pound the keys of my computer. Or even sometimes, maybe I’m race out to the living room in my skivvies to grab something I forgot and am too lazy to, like, put on pants or something. Regardless, all at once, I look out the window and startle myself witless (and probably them too in the last example that I gave) or hear someone talk outside my window and it’s like they’re sitting right next to me. I’m forced to eavesdrop whether I like it or not! They’re forced to spy on me whether they want to or not. It’s exasperating! Don’t these people have somewhere to go? Can’t they have visiting hours in their own apartments?!

I take a deep breath. I put my freak out aside for a moment.

I have gotten some delicious news. I’ve been pestering a professor at Kent State in the Political Science department to find an equivalent class that would fulfill my last class requirement for my minor. After two other failed attempts, and perhaps only because he’s getting tired of getting emails from me (although I must say, he’s incredibly prompt about answering them-what a doll!), he’s agreed on a class that I can take at UC and still get my grubby little hands on my PoliSci minor! YESSS! Score one for the home team!!!

I’m totally stoked.

Also! I found out that when I recalibrated my schedule so I can get a job, I actually DO have an extra week off between quarters. The joy just keeps gushin’.

Tags: back to school, ranting

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