I guess it stands true that the only time to write, is at night. Not because that is the only time available, but because that is the only light by which my mind will settle and reflect. Truth be told, the week has gone by very quickly, in part because it really didn't begin until today and will end promptly Friday afternoon. Today, Wednesday, was my first day of classes. Monday was of course MLK Day, and Tuesday I left blank for my internship, which I begin tomorrow. More on that to come. My day began this morning in French when it's two early to be trying to translate a foreign language, let alone understand some peoples' groggy groans in English. My teacher seems nice--very strong accent and has trouble reading smoothly in English--and I am absolutely scared to death of this class. I was quickly reminded as I sat there in the front row how much the first day of a foreign language class scares me; You have no idea what's going on, your brain has to keep switching from translation to sudden understanding as the teacher shifts from French to English and back again, the workload seems to surmount to an Everest of studying, and when it's over I have to remind myself that I'm not a dummy and do know some French. Anyway, I was glad to leave. I filled two hours at the desk which will be normally used at the Blaze. After that, K and I ventured to North Campus for a yummy lunch (what? campus dining good?). Then he left and my classes progressed. Media Research Methods does not, by any means, get my heart pumping with enthusiasm. I drudged to that class. However, the ending was a twist. My professor has been teaching for over 30 years and still young enough to be kind. For most of the class time he explained to us the runnings of the class; you take an exam, you get a chance to retake all the questions you missed the first go around and get full points for the ones you get correct added to your original score. So even if you fail the first time, you could end up with a C! Not only that, he posts all his old exams AND answers online for review. AND, (now here's the kicker), it's a video class so, if you so choose, you can "attend" class by turning on the tube in your living room and take notes while chowing down on take-out at midnight. Can you believe that? Besides all that, the professor seemed really nice and actually expressed consideration for his students and our learning experience. To say the least, I don't think this class is going to be as awful as I thought. Last class of the day: Fiction Writing. Cake to get a good grade, but there is a lot of work involved. Today was introductions. Now here is the story to tonights title. We paired off with a stranger and had a note card that we were to write basic information on about our partner: Name, nickname, origin, major and year in school, hobbies and interests, and a way the teacher can remember them by. I was friendly, optimistic, chose someone at random, and came to find out that I had paired myself up with Death. Death's name is Matt Brown. Ironically, he's black. And wears black clothes and black Converse, and black nail polish. But he's not Gothic. I went first. Collected all his information. He didn't talk very loud and he didn't look me in the eye. I didn't think much of him. Then my turn. We get to nickname. I say with a laugh that I have a lot of nicknames (because I do) and he makes some smartass comment: "I bet you do." I ask him what that's supposed to mean and he said nothing. Next question. Matt's from around here. I tell him where I'm from and, knowing the generalization that comes with the city, tell him I'm not a snob. "Whatever you say," he remarked. And just like that, I knew he had passed judgment on me. In the blink of an eye I was able to step outside my self and look back at my figure sitting in the chair exactly as he saw me; One of those girls. We move on. I've stopped smiling and being friendly. Hobbies. Photography, writing, and reading. "What do you like to shoot?" "Portraits." "Of live people?" I answered quickly yes, thought maybe I had misheard the question, but I hadn't. I looked at him. "Why would anyone take portraits of dead people?" He didn't respond but I read in his face what he meant; He thought I was vain and shallow and was looking for something deep. In my head I kind of laughed at him; I like the living, thanks, but if I change my medium I'll be sure to call you. Other groups were still talking, but Death and I just sat and waited for class to continue. So that was that! : D After we moved on I enjoyed the class, like the teacher, got some ideas, yada yada. So here are my classes and grade predictions: French 202 - B Media Research Methods - A Fiction Writing - A Public Speaking - A That is, of course, aiming high. But here's hoping. So I begin my internship tomorrow. I don't have to be there until 10:30, which is amazing. I don't know anything else after that. Don't know what I'll be doing, how long I'll be there, nada. But I do have duty tomorrow night (ick) and then it's Friday, only French and a desk shift holding me back from my alternate life at the Castle Arroyo. Carrie