*sigh*

Courtesy of Deviant Art

So last week in class the POD decides to channel a Russian. Don't know why, but in a Russian accent he taught all the way. He was quite good and entertaining and perhaps he's training for some undercover operation that I don't know about.

MKIA decided to dye her hair red. It wasn't working. Thank goodness for her the Fashion Police wasn't around because they would've arrested her on the spot. It was criminal I tell you. With her red hair, ruddy complexion and red outfit she looked like a Twizzler. 'Nuf said.

Dr. Phil was sick and left during break but by then it was too late because he already had spread his lovely germs around... inside an enclosed classroom.... with no open windows. *sigh*

Meanwhile, a student who had been absent for a couple of sessions resurrected and she, too, had been very sick with the flu though she informed us it was not of the swinish variety. She decided to sit next to me. Obviously, the dress code for the day was to wear one's Hazmat suit but I didn't get the memo. *double sigh*

I had a nice conversation with our resident published writer and found he idolizes Sherlock Holmes a bit more than what I would consider normal but I suppose that's par for the course for creative writers. Loopy or not, I like him a lot. He's very sweet.

Big Dude was present of course and sitting in the corner like he usually does ignoring the rest of the human race. I actually saw a hint of a smile touch his face last week and deducted he had human genes after all. I think. The jury's still out on this.

And tonight's class again. Didn't read one single word for today's assignment but being that last week I was so exhausted from work that I could barely masticate without the help of an assistant who moved my mouth around and ordered me to chew and swallow, I think that's okay. I'm still exhausted and wonder if I will actually be able to absorb any of the words that will come out of the POD's mouth tonight and hope I don't manage to frustrate him because he will undoubtedly fail to understand my mumbling, lethargic language and take it as a sign that I'm either uninterested or having a stroke. If he only knew that the last thing I want is to be in class tonight and instead want to be home on my couch with some cushy pillows and comfy blanket, eating some junk food in the form of sugar and fat, and having complete control of the remote control with the beloved silent and reading and not saying a word. I can't process. I can't talk. I can barely think. I've hung my cape and put my superpowers on a break. Actually, I'm so tired right now that if I had someone standing next to me talking smack about me or saying something indecent, I would fail to pick it up. And that's just too bad and too sad because it would've made for some terrific interactions.