Once again, I wasn't all that excited when I woke up early Thursday morning and felt just how terribly cold it was. The sudden cold-snap made me feel like I had some sort of cold. I woke up tight-muscled and a little congested in the sinuses, and my feet felt like they were encased in concrete they were so heavy. Regardless, I peeled myself out of bed, did some stretching to loosen things up, washed my face with warm water and massaged my sinuses to encourage the snot out, and dressed in warm (though not overly puffy) layers to fend off the cold, but not make me sweat indoors.
Outside, everything was just white and blue with ice. Thankfully, the night before, I'd placed more salt down on the concrete so I didn't shatter my tailbone leaving my house the next morning. It took me almost a half hour to chisel enough ice and snow off my Xterra to safely drive (I almost broke my windshield wipers in the process). And, it took forever for my Xterra to heat up (and it also complained about starting after sitting idle for two days in the cold, but beyond a little bit of a coughing-sound, the engine roared to life as usual).
By the time my Xterra was warm enough to start melting the remaining ice off, sending it into the air in steamy clouds, my lungs and windpipe felt like they had icicles jabbing into them, and I was almost convinced my fingers were gonna fall off by the time the Xterra got warm enough to thaw the ice.
I spent another ten minutes or so inside my Xterra to warm up my painfully numb extremities. While doing so, my phone began to buzz like an angry wasp nest in the cupholder where I placed it. I was pretty damn sure it was my Literature group bitching about the cold, and I was right. One gal was snowed in without any of her stuff for class (so she couldn't work on it from wherever she was), and another had wrecked her car the night before (and she also complained about being unable to get her work done). I didn't offer any advice or even sympathy. I simply put my phone down without replying, took in a deep breath to expel as much frustration towards them as I could, and finally began my slow, cautious journey to campus in the bitter cold morning.
On the way, I had plenty of time to dissect my thoughts and feelings. Why was I getting so worked up over other peoples' problems, especially since my professor wouldn't knock points off my grade because some people in my group didn't do their work? Why was I allowing myself to be so frustrated and influenced by people I didn't know and frankly didn't care about? Why was I so sensitive to others' shortcomings?
I couldn't come up with a logical answer to any of those questions. Instead, the answer lied in my emotions. Emotionally, I was just frustrated by the fact that my college class didn't feel like a college class. I felt like I was back in high school, before Homebound. That seemed to be triggering some sort of PTSD-type response in my brain, causing me to feel personally slighted by the people in my class I just didn't vibe with. So, how would I deal with those emotions who's roots were planted deep in my past? I wasn't yet sure.
After a rather harrowing driving experience (far too many people have no idea how to drive on ice), I arrived on campus, parked the Xterra, and made my way to the building as fast as I safely could. I wasn't late, but it was far too cold outside for me to be out there. But, I warmed up quickly as I charged up the stairs to the fourth floor.
In the classroom, not a lot of people showed up. Roughly half the class was missing that day, and the professor started class off by complaining about the weather.
"They should've at least delayed class today..." she shook her head.
Interestingly, as I was unpacking my stuff for class, I noticed that everyone who gave me a weird vibe wasn't in attendance. Again, I wasn't sure what to do with that information. Obviously, my gut instinct had been warning me about the students in my class who hadn't aged out of high school. Why that was? I didn't know.
Regardless, I felt much better being in class that day, especially since my responsible groupmate was there, too. As we discussed the last section of the book we'd read and annotated the week before, she also had a few comments on the missing half of our group.
"They give me anxiety..." she murmured.
"Same here." I nodded, "I wonder why..."
"Cuz they don't do their shit." my groupmate responded, "And they like..." my groupmate paused to think, "They have total Mean Girls vibes. You feel it, too?"
"Mmm-hmmm..." I smiled, "Glad I'm not the only one who does."
