Exploding feet, space marines, and the classic panic attack.

After a lot of time off campus and the panic attack to end all panic attacks, I think I've realized that I can do this whole college thing. I realized this a bit late, rushing back to campus at 11PM last night to throw everything together and print off my syllabus for Religion and get everything ready to use my mad elliptical skills at this gym before class. (So the latter didn't happen this morning, but it will tomorrow morning. I have to get my morning routine timed and perfect first.)  

My English professor looks like Ryan Gosling with a ponytail and let's us call him by his first name. He's quiet and deep voiced with a Masters in Creative Writing and made me feel completely comfortable as I was the only one in class who spoke above a mumble and had to introduce myself first (darned "A" last name. You are the bane of my preferably quiet existence. . .). His class is going to be largely reading and analyzing and discussing with a lot of opinion based writing, and no final exam. In fact, neither class I've taken today had a final exam. Celebrate? Yeah basically. 
My Religion professor sent out the world's scariest syllabus that put pictures of a bitter old Atheist man into my mind. Needless to say, I didn't go into this class feeling too excited about life, and the classroom didn't help. It's in a giant lecture room with stadium seating, flickering lights, and no windows. Three minutes before class starts, a man with an almost triangular formation of black curls on the literal top of his head, diamond studs in each ear lobe, and a goatee walks to the front of the room, sets two books on either side of the chalkboard and shouts, "DO YOU SEE THESE BOOKS?! BUY THIS ONE *dramatic gesture towards the one on his right* NOT THIS ONE *dramatic gesture to the one on his left*" 
Imagine if Zach Galifianakis was teaching your Religion class, hated the classroom so much he joked about it being an experiment from the Psychology department and compared it to the Mel Gibson movie "Conspiracy Theory", used your feet exploding as the example of what to get a doctors note for, and screamed "MY DAMNED SON AGAIN!" when his phone rang then picked it up and went "I'M IN CLASS!" and hung up. 
Yeah, it's going to be a very interesting and entertaining semester in Religion class. 
My last class of the day isn't until 3:30, so I went and got some lunch and attempted to read some of the book I'm currently reading while the guys at the table next to me (very passionately) discussed what it takes to become a Space Marine. (Yes, I was dying to take them all outside and show them the real world, but I refrained.) 


Maybe I'm not so bad at this college thing after all. Who knows, before long maybe I'll even (Wait for it. . . ) LIKE it. (GASP, I know. Insanity.)