When I'm not at work
, it seems I am doing homework
. What a way to live. Woke up around ten
this morning and took a 45 minute shower, then drove myself to French
class. I had to park three blocks away from the building
because of traffic. Not a bad
walk at all; at least it wasn't so hot
today. I actually brought along a sweatshirt
, but never put it on. Got to class early
for a change. Madame
Chapuis brought in her kids
today, who are fluent in French and English
, of course. The older one did most of the teaching; it was quite humiliating
. He must have been only ten or eleven years old. He was not shy
about correcting our French when we messed up, either. Yet it was a lot of fun.
When I got home, I walked into the house to the smell of paint. Curious, I went downstairs. I found my brother and his girlfriend, Sheena, each wearing boxers and tank tops and splattered with white paint. My brother's room was completely empty, and all his furniture was cluttering up the basement. I couldn't even open the door to the laundry room. Turns out my parents are buying him a new waterbed and a couch to put in his room, so he decided to repaint his walls. Whatever's clever. I had to go outside to avoid passing out. I'm not sure how they managed to hold on to consciousness with all the fumes floating about.
Started on my homework first thing. I'm still not finished. Sheena came upstairs to take a break from painting, and she found me sitting by an open window, doing my Psych homework with a pile of books on the floor next to me. She said nothing, opened the frige, took a pineapple fruit cup, and went back downstairs to eat amongst the stench of paint. I kept reading my text book.
A few hours later, she was back. I was still occupying my spot on the floor next to the window, this time working on Anatomy. She opened the frige and got a plum, then waddled back downstairs, still wearing a pair of boxers. I could no longer smell the paint - perhaps I had gotten used to it.
I woke up when Sheena nudged me with her foot to say she was going home. I looked at the clock; almost bed time. And I still have Stats and Creative Writing to go through. Shit.