Back to School!

Hello, all you happy people!

Well, summer is officially over for the crowd over at Crichton College. You can probably hear the moaning in Ohio, *waves at Mrs. Sherry* but I ignore the moaning with which I do not participate. I was so glad to walk back into school and see my friends and my teachers and even those hated class schedules again! It feels good to have some order to my world, to know what I'm supposed to be doing and to feel in control of how I go about doing the things that I'm supposed to be doing.

Anyway, here are some updates from my neck of the woods:

1.) Mom got the job! We're all SO excited. She's terrified, of course, but that's just the normal terror that accompanies change. We really hope that this job will be everything we've always wanted for her. It's so exciting to see God's provision.

2.) Sad to say, my car decided to stop working on the first day of school. A new battery has been bought, but it still won't start. Pray it's just a bad battery lead, as my dear brother suspects. I can't afford anything more!

3.) This will come as a HUGE shock to you all, I'm sure, but I, Katie, am sheer evil at times. Yes, my friends, I admit my wickedness in this public place as a sign of my...um...regret.

You see, Shelby and I are being forced by time and the administration to take World Civilization 1. This is a freshman level class, which means several things. It means that the class is huge in the beginning and about a third of the size by the end because of all the people that have dropped/failed the class. It also means that the class has a lot of busy work, about which I am most certainly NOT excited. Still, it's the only "un-fun" class I'm taking this semester, so I had to bite the bullet and sign up. However, when the teacher had us all introduce ourselves, something became apparent very quickly.

The class, it seems, is full to the brim with jocks.

Let me lay this out on the table. I hate jocks. I feel absolutely no regret in admitting that jocks are very often the recipients of my utter disdain and loathing. I'm quite sure that there are some good, studious jocks out there that are just trying to pay for school. If you can play a sport and keep with your classes at the same time, more power to you! You have my respect. However, most jocks in the classroom are a nuisance at best and a pain in the as-terick at worst. They are content to float through the class and do the bare minimum of work while texting on their phones and bragging about their many conquests to people that could not be any less interested. They waste precious time.

This, obviously, is the age-old problem between nerds and jocks. I resent the fact that I bust my hiney in class and do all the work and come to all the classes and then the jocks get special treatment and make nearly the same grade I do when it all comes down to the end. As an example to show what Shelby and I were dealing with, I offer this little anecdote. We were asked by our professor to say what history classes we had taken. One baseball player stood up and made this highly intellectual statement: "Well, I took American and World history in high school. I think I took U.S. history, too."

I rest my case.

It was this disdain toward jocks, though, that caused my actions today. One of the jocks in class was being particularly obnoxious. He kept interrupting the teacher, shouting out comments, and trying to get all of the dancers' phone numbers. He, my friends, was country, loud, and irritating. Finally, he was regaling the class about why he does not wear undershirts because he's swollen. (?) It was at this point that my true nature reared its ugly head. Before I could think about it or stop it, I turned to him in front of the whole class and stated, "I thought it was your head that was swollen."

There was a deep, penetrating silence.

Then snorts of laughter. My friend Rachel was looking at me with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. I decided then that it would be in my best interest to turn around and sit quietly like the good little nerd I was. The best part was that the jock didn't even get it! He said, "Oh, I wear like, uh, a size six, seven hat." Insert my rolling eyes here.

Hrumph. Served him right anyway.

Forgive me, O Lord, for my quick tongue. But I doubt even Jesus would have sat quietly in His seat while some guy talked about his swollen armpits.