Silver-white clouds made up the entire morning sky as I stepped out with a container full of sidewalk salt to preemptively combat the coming snow. I wasn't about to slip and fall down my concrete stairs again like I did the previous week when I didn't have any salt. I still have a little bit of a bruised ass from that epic fail. 

After I salted the concrete all the way from my porch to my Xterra, I put the salt container on the ground behind my giant blue spruce tree, and got in my truck to go to college in-person for the first time this semester. I wasn't so nervous anymore, but I wasn't in the best mood. My fuse was shorter than usual, and I was extremely sensitive to every noise louder than a mouse's footfall. I spent a few minutes waiting for my parked Xterra to heat up, before I shifted 'er into gear and headed off to college. 

I left about an hour early, to give myself some time to just drive around, listen to some heavy country-rock music (my motivation playlist), and think about my game-plan for the day. I had a list of to-do's in my mind that, if I got done that day, I'd reward myself with a platter of grocery store sushi:

1. Go to Literature class.

2. Look for next week's Literature class book in the campus bookstore and/or library.

3. Find a quiet place to get some writing done. 

4. Go to "college experience" class, AKA career counselling.

5. Leave campus and get brother from school.

6. Shovel (if there is snow). 

7. Relax for the rest of the day (with my platter of sushi).

While that may not seem like a lot for most people, it was for me, considering how I was feeling that day. But, as I drove my usual circle around town for a couple laps (Chatfield to Simms, Simms to Quincy, Quincy to Wadsworth, Wadsworth to Chatfield), listening to redneck rock music by artists like Upchurch and Brian Setzer, my mood and energy began to lift. Sure, I was still irritable and didn't have the patience to wait for longer than five seconds before honking at idiots distracted by their phones at stoplights. But, at least I had a slight smile and was subtly nodding to the beat of my music. I wasn't happy, but at least I wasn't seething either. 

When I arrived on campus, I was relieved to see that the parking lot was quite empty. Of course, spring semesters tend to be less busy than fall semesters at college, especially at community college. But, there were still quite a few people milling about. I drifted up and down the lot till I found a place to park that I liked, then I gathered up my things and headed into the ACC fortress. 

My first class was on the fourth floor of the building. Most people waited for the elevator to take them up there. But, being the extreme claustrophobe that I am, I hoofed it up the stairs to the fourth floor instead, never stopping once to rest. I only took my mask off briefly upon reaching the fourth floor to get in one good breath. I then trotted through the maze of corridors till I found my classroom. I got to class with a few minutes to spare, but most of my peers had already arrived. I wasn't sure what to feel about what I saw. 

I know we're not supposed to judge books by their covers, and I damn sure try not to do so. But, when I strode into my Literature class for the first time in-person, I felt a rush of anxiety as I scanned around the classroom at everyone already there. It was clear that I was the only tomboy in that class, by quite a lot. Every other woman was dressed up like they were going to a wine party at someone's luxury apartment in downtown Denver after class. The men were dressed the same way. A lot of students were also quite obviously non-gender-conforming, which I didn't (and don't) mind, but I wasn't sure how I (a redneck tomboy with messy, long hair, no makeup, fucked-up fingernails, wearing hiking boots caked in red mud) would survive in a class of yuppies, hipsters, and goth-girls (and I use those terms affectionately). 

Still, I had to try. It would be a character-building experience, regardless of how well (or not well) I got along with everyone else. I just planned on being my usual polite, quiet, though assertive self, and hoped for the best. So, with a smile and a quiet, "Heyyyy...", I made my way to a seat in the classroom and got set up for class. 

Things started off as usual small college classes start. Nothing remarkable there. But, when the professor asked who was enjoying our first book of the semester (The Book of Yaak by Rick Bass), everyone shook their heads. Everyone except me. Gingerly, I raised my hand to declare that I was loving the book. What wasn't to love about a non-fiction memoir written by a redneck environmentalist who lived off the land? Apparently, my peers didn't like the author describing (in great detail) how to clean a grouse and use a chainsaw the wrong way. Because, to my peers, it was "gross" and "outdated", and a few people went as far as to call Bass "childish" for not liking the city or government, and "immoral" for killing so many innocent animals for food. 

Needless to say, I felt quite awkward that whole class discussion. Everyone, by then, knew I hunted and fished, and spent every moment I could out-of-doors. My professor had asked me the first day of class online, if the feathers and skulls on the wall and shelves behind me were from animals that I personally took, and I gave her a very enthusiastic nod and thumbs up. My professor and maybe two other students in the class nodded and smiled in approval. Everyone else seemed to be giving me death glares, or were doing their best to advert their eyes from my "wall of death". Now that we were in-person, I could sense some of those same people were purposefully giving me cold shoulders. 

I wish I was bullshitting...

Regardless, I did my best not to let the strange vibes get to me. After all, not everyone has to like me, or even be friendly with me. They just have to respect me. Treat me like an adult. And, vise versa. 

Still, the feelings were there and were real. I couldn't ignore them even if I tried. My hackles were raised and remained so for as long as I was in that classroom. Again, I couldn't quite place my finger on what exactly was making my alarm bells sound. They just were, especially towards certain people. It wasn't based on appearance, or even on the way they talked or held themselves. There was just something else about certain people that had me on guard. 

I was frustrated by those feelings. In a way, I felt like I was doing something wrong. Like I was judging people based on their appearances. But, deep down inside, I knew that wasn't the case. Lots of people dressed and acted similarly, but not everyone who acted or looked a certain way alerted my sixth sense. Trying to put these feelings and instincts into words is almost impossible. All I can say is that my subconsciousness was picking up on the most subtle cues that my conscious mind couldn't pick out. Based on those subtle cues, my gut was telling me to be extremely wary of certain people. Not because they posed any danger to me, but because they were just immature. 

Again, I felt bad (and still feel bad) for feeling that way about some people. After all, my sense of humor will forever be stuck in middle school. But, the immaturity I have is different than the immaturity my instinct was telling me to watch out for. It's like the difference between childlike and childish. To be childlike in some ways is fine. But, to be childish? Not so much.