There’s always something creepy about talking to my professors. I feel like they have a face to put with my mark. As a number, none of my failures mean anything. But when I talk to one, I feel like I’m letting them down. I’m scared that they’ll know what my marks are, and that from then on they’ll recognize me as not going to class and failing the mid-terms. Usually I can’t stand e‑mailing my profs. It has almost never been a pleasant experience.
I actually feel like I need to get drunk before going out this Friday. I’ve never felt like that before. Apparently, it’s one of the signs of alcohol abuse. I’ve only drank so that I could fall asleep a few times, which is another sign. It’s not a problem though, so I’m not worried.
Aaron showed me the cabin that we’re renting next year. It’s so damn sweet. The whole deal has been moved from reading week to some week-end in January, which should save us some money. Aaron’s going to let me borrow his board, and hopefully I’ll be able to fit into Greg’s boots, so that all I’ll really need to pay for is the lift ticket, the cabin, and the drinks, which should all be under $200.