Random REM

Last night I inexplicably dreamed I was staying in the basement of a family of Indian strangers (I can think to say it no better way, and as it's seven thirty in the morning, and I am categorically NOT A MORNING PERSON, I think you'll have to take my word for it).

In that mystical, opulent, and ultimately nonsensical way dreams have of being ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS while defying concrete description (and also, maybe I shouldn't have mixed cough syrup with Nyquil last night)--I was perfectly happy with the idea of living in these peoples' basement.

For one, the family seemed nice, if the maternal figure seemed a bit suspicious and haughty (What is this random Korean girl doing in our basement, and why are we letting her stay there?).

For another, I remember having a running commentary in my head about the wonderful strangeness of their basement, which was full of furniture crammed willy nilly together, all happily Bargain Basement Deluxe (they even had an absurd room stuffed with Christmas wreaths and trees and baubles--a permanent shine to jolly St. Nick, as it were).

But, I was happy, because they had a very comfortable fold-out couch bed, with one of those sea-foam green felt blankets with the satin edging you find in better hotel chains (not the ratty, dubiously damp kind in the scarier ones).

In any case, it sort of devolved from there, into a vaguely anxiety producing dream about work--no doubt spurred by the imminent test tomorrow, which without a single bit of geek-pride cockiness, I'm pretty sure I'm going to shame myself into professional misery over, partially because I've been sick this week and not a prime candidate for study (although I did an impressive stint of rote memorization last night, proving All Is Not Lost In Middle Earth, Frodo Baggins) and partially because I really haven't been paying much attention the last tw months or so of "class" which I shall loosely term, because even though I am afraid of performing crap-tacularly on The Exam And All, I also thought the classes were a bit of a joke.

That sounds ungrateful, even snotty (and I am being accused of these very personality traits by, oh let's say, Piper, because he is an innocuous enough figure, and also, can't communicate his distaste for this blatant scapegoating with words).

What I mean is, I found half of the classes completely redundant, and bored by endless reams of information (and, I'll just say it, a particularly annoying-to-me group of classmates who put me in mind of some of the worst in my divinity school cohort--which isn't saying a lot to those of you who weren't there, but will make Katy both cringe and chuckle AND be smugly in the know). Ergo, I did my usual insert-own-foot-in-ass bit of protest and missed the classes I probably should have gone to (had I checked the syllabus in advance).

Yes, yes yes. Arrogance and ennui are a very bad combination, and I am living to reap the fruits of my pathetic would-be labor.

On the other hand, not that this excuses any of it, but I have a healthy amount of disgust and despair for my profession that I feel trumps caring about pointless classes dedicated to making me want to strangle my classmates. Putting a decided misanthrope in a crowded, poorly constructed auditorium designed for Liliputians is not a way to inspire me to academic greatness. And clearly, I've been through so much school that my special learning needs should be catered to.

(Ah, yes, I'm being brazen this morning--I'm also being ironic and waging a silent, although not wordless--war against those who seem to think I'm incapable of good old fashioned hard work and so forth.)