I begin writing from my dorm room...but you can immediately eradicate any image you have of an angsty, acne-covered college girl, unable to "find where I fit in" blah blah blah. I am rarely any of those things (Queen Kourtney K, thanks for your mostly unfailing inspiration to give no fucks). Until recently I was living in New Zealand...but I'll get into that later. Once I realized I was being dragged back to college to graduate or whatever, I figured starting with a story from uni might be the best way to jump off this whole blogging thing. Because of that, I bring you this rather odd story of one of my many trials here at THE George Washington University (and yes, I guess we are that up our own asses that the "the" was absolutely necessary-got almost as much shit about that as I do my last name, so thanks for that). I signed up for a class called "The goddess in India and beyond." I should have known with a title like that, something bizarre would occur. At 9:25 on a Tuesday morning, I had just rolled out of bed and to the coffee machine only minutes before and stumbled across the street to this class. I sat in an empty classroom, watching the time tick by. One, two, ten minutes after the class should have started and I was still the only person in the room. I was just about to pack up my laptop and run back to bed, when the door opened. In walked an ancient looking man, definitely nearing 85. Let's just say he was not what I had pictured. AT ALL (cut to a small, young indian-esq looking woman). He shuffled over to me sitting alone in the third row, mumbling inaudible words under his breath. He struggled with olympian force to turn a desk around to face me and let me tell you, that was uncomfortable to watch. When he shuffled out to get a tissue for his dripping nose, I quickly checked the registrar, and yep, I was one of two people signed up for the course. Why on earth hadn't it been canceled? Clearly "they" aren't on top of their shit with class planning. He came back into the room, and began to mumble again. I gathered he was talking to me, as he was looking in my general direction, so i nodded along. It was definitely airing on the side of the nightmare we all deal with when at family christmas, and grandma and or grandpa just can't get their shit together. He handed me a syllabus (he had conveniently brought two) and began to talk to me about the class. Why hadn't I just left when I had the chance? I thought about ditching, sneaking my way out but the truth is, I really felt sympathetic to this sweet old man (he looked so much like my grandpa, and what my dad is quickly beginning to look like) so I sat there, counting the seconds until I could safely escape. He told me about his life and the many odd jobs he had had before settling on studying goddesses (of all things?) and found his true calling. It was interesting to know that he had worked underground on roads right after graduating...I mean we all have those jobs right? I painted houses for a summer for god's sake! He joked about how impossible it would be to have class just us two. ummm no shit, and that was assuming I was even going to do the readings! false. I dreaded to think of him showing up next week to an empty classroom, completely alone and cold from his wintery walk. Therefore, later that afternoon, I emailed him politely stating that because of a "scheduling conflict" I would be dropping his class. To be honest, I needed to tell him something, even if it was a lie. I knew that after 9 months away from uni, starting back up again might have it's ups and downs but I definitely hadn't anticipated such a quirky start.