AJDLAFBRHFBRLHGB We have night classes like regular schedule so we don´t have a choice TT____TT
Yea, the class I’m taking was only offered at night. I didn’t have a choice. So the real frustration here is that, in fact, you have absolutely no choice about taking a night class. It is forced upon you and it is terrible.
Do you have night classes every night or just once a week?
It is very unlikely that you'll regret any college decision more than you will regret taking a night class.
You’re thinking “Oh, a night class! That doesn’t interfere with my schedule and then I only have the class once a week!” STOP. Don’t do it.
1. Lots of shit happens after classes. Clubs. Speeches. Movies. Socializing with friends. Dinner. Even a late night class that starts at 7 will somehow interfere with your dinner. This is because night classes are food-hating monsters. If you’re only a member of one club, or if the only on campus event you care about is the weekly concerts they have, guess when your night class is going to be scheduled for. Because aside from hating food, night classes hate your social life. Most likely, they just hate you.
2. Also: TV SHOWS. Luckily, you’re already best friends with the internet, so finding these online isn’t a problem. Unless your friends are more entertained by spoiling your shows for you than they actually are by the show. (Raise your hand if you’ve considered that this is the only reason your friends watch certain shows…)
3. It’s summer when you sign up for classes. Warm. It’s nice out in the evening. Then November hits. IT’S FUCKING FREEZING.* You got home from class a few hours ago, and now you’re huddled under a blanket tumbling happily. But then you look at the clock and now you must leave the safety of your warm blanket. This will never get easier. Even after many semesters of night classes. Never. Why is it so goddamned cold?
4. Your shoes are off. I don’t know about you, but very few things motivate me to stay where I am more than “But I’m not dressed.” If I can’t walk out this second exactly as I am, this is a major hindrance. It is irrelevant that putting on shoes is a fairly simple activity.
5. Similarly, you’ve probably been back in your room for hours. (This explains why you’re no longer wearing shoes or whatever else is a public-only clothing item in your mind.) You’re probably in the middle of something. In my case, I’m almost always in the middle of nothing. Why would I want to stop my nothing and leave my home? There’s a 90% chance that if I have to go back to my room in between classes, I’m not coming back out of it. I won’t believe you if you say that’s not true for you.
(Reasons 4 and 5 may also be listed as: You’re fucking lazy. This isn’t going to change because of a night class.)
6. Most night classes meet once a week. For three hours. THREE HOURS. Some meet twice for only an hour and half or two hours. This is very generous of the registrar, but still more painful than words. I couldn’t listen to a three hour lecture during my waking hours, let alone during evening nap time. (I like to sleep, okay.)
7. You don’t want to be there and chances are the teacher doesn’t want to be there either. But unless you get really lucky, the teacher still only has so much time to cover all the material, and they’re not letting you go even a second early. Remember that part about 3 hours? Yea. So basically, your teacher will understand your pain, empathize even, and still give no fucks about putting you out of it.
* It is irrelevant that it’s only 40 or 50 degrees Fahrenheit right now; that seems pretty damn cold at night. And it’s only going to get colder as the semester goes on. So every night you go to this class it’ll be colder than it was the last time. EVERY NIGHT WILL BE COLD.
And Julian smiled at them, right? Because Logan was happy? *sobs*
Yes. Julian stood to one side of the dance hall, watched them, smiled, drained his drink, and told Derek he was going in for an early night instead of dancing with all the girls anxious to fill his dance card. He left them up to Derek, who was too happy to oblige. Then he lay on his bed and stared at his ceiling in abject horror all night of what he’d basically become, and resolved to do better the next day.
Sometimes I pretend I’m not the crazy gondolier I once was and then she posts things like this and what am I supposed to do but weep like there’s no tomorrow???
Thanks! :) I made this is in high school as a baseball cap, but in college I moved it to a headband, and I seriously use it every year to some new function where people haven’t seen it. >< I’m too lazy for my own good.
So most of my friends are very anti-Halloween, which means that I’ve let it become a pretty whatever holiday myself. But, just in case, I have a back up costume that I always use for those surprise parties.
Sometimes when my mom is talking to me and I can't hear her, I respond just loud enough for her to hear me but not to understand me, hoping she'll realize that I can't understand her. Usually she just keeps talking.
The Hanovers parted in the hallways as Justin Bancroft and Charlie Amos headed down the hall together, talking importantly about prefect business.
“It’s getting insane, Charlie,” Justin sighed, rubbing his brow as he walked, “Windsor and Stuart’s pranks are getting out of hand. There’s a line.”
“I know that, Hanover, have you ever tried running a circus like that?”
“I know it’s hard, Amos, but you need to keep that mob under some kind of control. The faculty is not pleased.”
The two talked importantly, their backs stiff and heads held high; their strides were identical, and their discussion carried through the Hanover halls. They reached Justin’s room and stopped inside, the door swinging closed behind them, cutting them off from the people outside. A long moment of silence followed, the only noise the click of a lock turning. The two prefects stared at one another for a brief second, stepping close to touch their foreheads against one another, noses brushing from the proximity.
“Do you think they know?” Justin whispered, his accent deeper as he leaned close, sliding his hands to the front of Chaz’s blazer.
“I don’t think so, some suspect things…but I don’t think they have any proof.” The boy replied, closing his eyes and pulling Justin closer.
It had started out so innocently. Almost an accident. A tiny kiss that lead to complete confusion.
Charlie was straight. Justin was straight. At least they both thought they were. But then they’d kissed. One tiny touch of lips and everything had changed, one brief moment of curiosity and temptation and now…
Justin kissed Charlie, sliding one hand to the back of his neck and sighing. Charlie’s arms went around Justin’s back, pulling him closer and moving them towards the bed. It was always like this now. Secret meetings behind buildings, “Important Windsor/Hanover business” that led to stolen kisses behind locked doors, praying nobody would catch them.
Charlie’s hand sneaked under Justin’s shirt, pulling the buttons open and sliding his mouth down the exposed skin, feeling Justin’s hands tighten in his hair. They had ten minutes before someone outside would begin to wonder, begin to question. Ten fleeting minutes of time.
In public, they were Charlie Amos and Justin Bancroft, Windsor and Hanover prefects respectively. Behind closed doors, they were something different. Neither was sure what it was exactly, but they knew it felt good, it felt right.
I don’t own Glee. I don’t own Mama CP’s OCs. I don’t own Dalton. Heck, I don’t own anything, kay? It just popped into my head while listening to Thriller/Heads Will Roll and kept bugging to be written so…
I also don’t know how Chustin came into being. It’s probably OOC. It’s very terrible. People OTPing on the Tank, please don’t kill me. I’ve only written DwiLaura, Dersley (as crack) and Jogan before this.
This is the story that Justin told to Laura. I’ve managed to put a few people in there, just to see if they notice. All characters belong to the amazingly talented CP Coulter, except the ones in Laura’s story. They belong to Justin. And I know it’s not strictly Chustin, (unless you look closely), but Once Upon A Time was, and I figured I should tag it as the same.
My first go at Charlie and Justin. In which Charlie vents to Blaine and Kurt about his frustration over a certain prefect. Part Two to follow.
After his morning classes, Charlie returned to Windsor more frustrated than he had been in weeks. Pairing up with Justin for their debate assignment had turned his harmless crush into an enormous distraction. For the past couple of months, Charlie had chalked up the… butterflies in his stomach to nostalgia as graduation approached. However, spending long hours in the library, huddled close together as to not disturb the other students, Justin whispering and laughing into his ear…
At this time of day, the common room was almost deserted aside from a couple of juniors and sophomores. The prefect loosened his tie and sank heavily into an oversized armchair, ruffling his hair and trying to push Justin out of his mind. Blaine had been sitting on the nearby sofa with Kurt and stopped working on his English assignment. “Chaz, are you okay?” he asked, concerned by not wanting to pry.
“What is my problem, Blaine?” Charlie groaned, then buried his face in his hands.
“Boy trouble?” Kurt said, not even looking up from his book. Both Charlie and Blaine turned to Kurt in surprise, who added, “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t see it, Blaine. The only person oblivious to Charlie’s feelings for Justin is Justin… and possibly Logan.”
“It’s that ridiculous accent!” Charlie exclaimed in his defense, so worked up that he jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking over the coffee table and causing the sophomores in the corner to stare at their normally sane leader. Charlie took a deep breath and sat down again. “The way he talks sometimes…” In a horrendous cockney accent, Charlie imitated, “Oi, mate, why don’t you pop in for some tea and biscuits, and we’ll watch telly. Weren’t too chuffed about the incident with the apples and pears, eh? Come on, we’re going to be late for class.”
Blaine frowned thoughtfully. “That last one wasn’t a Briticism.”
“You sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins,” Kurt said, masking his amusement with a look of sympathy.