Sun Wars

One of the unique things about going to a small college is that you have small classes (Wow, that didn’t really wind up sounding very brilliant). Small classes can be a disadvantage when you’ve just read some crazy poetry that made absolutely zero sense to you and your professor opens up his book and looks expectantly at your whopping class of four, waiting for some mind-numbingly brilliant comments. It’s moments like these you wish you were in a class of four hundred and could just shrink into the background and not have to pretend your brain actually works. On the other hand, a small class means you are forced to talk (as I just mentioned), more individual attention (*shudder* expectant stare-downs), and better relationships with your professors (depending on how well you can pretend your brain works). Best of all, though, it means flexibility. And flexibility means Starbucks time!

Today my Contemporary Poetics class headed over to Starbucks to sip coffee, discuss poetry, and enjoy the ridiculously warm weather. I was pretty excited until about fifteen minutes into class when I realized ‘enjoying the ridiculously warm weather’ also meant bake. I was sitting there attempting to make sense of the words on the page in front of me when I felt a strange sensation on my arm. My pale, white skin cells were shrieking “Help us, Rachel Fleeman; you’re our only hope!” Since I typically pay great attention to any part of my body that takes the time to shriek at me, I tried to subtly shift my body. Unfortunately, I was sitting perpendicular to the sun, so this simply meant the sun was now hitting the back of my left arm rather than the front of it. Once this strip of my skin joined in the protesting, I did a little more adjusting, trying to somehow make it so the sun could bake my right arm instead of my left arm, but I could still see my professor. I think I finally accomplished this by some awkward twisting and careful positioning of my arms and head, but by then it was too late. I was forced to resign myself to being half-lobster…now with a back ache and neck crick.

If you’re wondering what the moral of this story is, welcome to the club. I think it might have something to do with wonderful sunny California, awesome small classes, and needing to remember sunscreen the next time our flexible class relocates. On the other hand, it might have to do with hallucinations of screaming skin cells, conveying events completely hyperbolically, and trying to avoid pretending my brain actually works. Take your pick. I’m going to go soothe my hair follicles.