Slacking at Slacking

Being a second semester 3L, there are certain things that I should be doing these last couple months. Or, not doing, as the case may be. By all accounts, I shouldn't really be reading for class, or going to class, or caring all that much at all. Instead, I'm pretty sure that I should be drinking too much, and starting my weekends early, and generally making the most of my time here in New Orleans before I leave for less crime-ridden pastures in May. Basically, I should have the mother of all cases of senioritis, since this is my third time as a carefree senior. Turns out, I'm kinda bad at being a slacker.

On Wednesdays, I have three classes, and I'm done at 3:45. Not too late or anything, but I had to go to the grocery store, and I hate going shopping during rush hour, because I'm nothing if not impatient, and being at the Winn-Dixie between 4 and 5 is liable to cause me to scream upon seeing the first person holding up the line by say, writing a check or something. It's an attractive trait, I know. Anyway, I was sort of toying with the idea of skipping class, and had decided to blow off the last one, get to the store early, and get my shopping done before I would've even closed my laptop at 3:45. Unfortunately, I'd seen the professor earlier that day to have him sign a form and, even more troubling, I actually like said professor, and the class. So I hemmed and hawed, and left the building to go the grocery store, having made up my mind to play hooky. Except, somewhere around State St. I started feeling guilty. At Nashville it was even worse, and I was convinced that karma would get me for blowing off class. So halfway up Jefferson, I turned around. I drove back to school, and ran to class. I was ten minutes late, but at least my karmic balance was intact.

Guess not. The room had a mildew problem, and smelled like hot, moldy vanilla. This is what I get for being the worst slacker ever. Next time, I'm gonna keep driving.