| Current mood: |  stressed |
| Current music: | I Hear You Now, by Vangelis and Jon |
It started out decently well. Even though I got up two hours than I normally would on a Monday, it was to do my first day's bit of work for Dr. Lay, and it wasn't bad at all. Plus, I really like the new student worker Olivia Pool who I'm sort of "training," so it's all good there. Then the fit hit the shan, as it were. I found out from Becca that Theory & Pedagogy, a required course for my major, is not offered next semester, which is the suck, since I'm not enrolled in it for this semester. Thus, I panicked. I went and talked to Mr. Harle, and he printed out the syllabus and all that stuff for me, so I'll be filling out a drop/add form to join the class now.
I bet those of you who didn't know how my semester already looked are thinking, "Yay, it's all fixed." Not likely. See, my workload was already, as I've already described my previously mentioned situation, the suck. Basically, more reading (time-wise) than there are hours in the day. Perhaps I mentioned the 100+ pages of reading for Shakespeare we were assigned the first day of class to be done by the next class? Perhaps not.
But yeah. From a well-earned 15 credit hours to a whopping more-than-earned 18 hours. I'm going to die.
Mr. Positive says: But, hey, just think how breezy your last semester will be!
And I say: That's true. Too bad I won't be mentally stable enough to enjoy it.
P.S. On top of everything else, the elevator decided to stick on the third floor on my way back to my room from all of the stressful events. After several attempts to make the evil, hot, stuffy, metal box of Satan go up one last floor, I gave up, walked to the end of the hall, and took the stairs. Yippee.
melancholy
pensive
