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Today I woke up and I was stoned.

It wasn't intentional. In fact, I didn't even notice until I was off into the bright, bright sun and on my way to class. About halfway down University I had to turn off the discman and think to myself: Why does Death Cab For Cutie sound so damn cool this morning? Why am I thinking in the morning anyways? Why did I just wonder why I was thinking? What am I thinking about?

It was then that I realized that I was fucking baked out of my tree. "Muffins!" I shook my fist to the heavens. "Damn you Meegan and Jen!" Last night, Meegan and Jen baked some wonderful muffins with a special breed of magic. Although I was being a nerd, typing my Doctor Faustus essay in the living room on my overcompensation laptop, I still managed to snag one at about 1 AM. It was deliciously frosted and made my concluding paragraph incredibly difficult to write. I giggled at Dave Chappelle and went to bed bleary-eyed.

Usually these things pass in the night, but apparently the muffin is more powerful than the bong. I somehow made it to class and sat, dazed, through a class discussion. Mostly I stared at the girl wearing black nylons, a KISS shirt and a gigantic stuffed bunny. I wondered whether the bunny would be going to any other classes that day.

Things didn't improve in 16th Century Literature, a few hours later. I heard snippets: "Male beloved," for example, and "spice up your reading." I made a few uninformed comments about poems that I didn't really care to read.

Anna talked a lot, as usual. She talked pretentiously and theoretically. "I think we should have her killed," whispered Marta. "And stuffed like a bear!" I added enthusiastically. Rod turned around from the row in front of us: "We could mount her on the back wall." He was right. We really could, if one of us knew taxidermy.

Amy had some kind of fucking crazy ADHD and liberally drew big, sweeping lines across my page of notes. She drew an outline of her hand and I cut off her fingers.

Marta showed me the bedframe bruises on her leg. I was impressed. Marta said that she wished she could die fifty times in one hour, like Cleopatra. That would be hot.

In the front of the class, the discussion had turned to lutes. Evil lutes with the power to change love, apparently.

A question: "What exactly is a lute?"
Marta (quietly): "It's a banjo."
Me (quietly): "It's a tiny guitar."
Luft's response: "It's... it's a stringed instrument, kind of like a little guitar... *appeals to the class* Don't any of you play the lute?"

*class snickers*

Me: "None of us plays the lute."

Posted by Chris at 10:44 PM >> Commentations (4)