i love my little brother

So this is my brother's first week of college and he sent me the following email. For those of you who know him, you will enjoy the Spencerness. For those of you who don't, you'll see the resemblance.

I know this email is overdue but I found a free hour, bobbing like a shipwreck survivor in the sea of my occupied time. Excuse me if I omit any facet of my first week of college, but this is the second draft of this email. (the first was lost when someone tripped over the server cable in the library, eerily like that college movie with David Spade, made more so by the wrathful mob.)

I've met so many people in the last week, on campus and College suites, that I can and have carried on a conversation of up to 45 minutes with someone I've previouslymet without their suspicion (spl?) that I have no recollection of their name.
I know my way around a portion of campus well enough to give directions to dazed map-clutching freshmen like myself, without them realizing that I share their disability. Though I feared that cleaning the apartment and feeding myself would be tedious, I find the smallest household tasks emancipating. I've vacuumed the apartment, gotten groceries, made sushi, baked cookies, and sundry other vital life-builders. The geography of Murfreesboro remains a secret to me, but it's an exciting secret, like eventually figuring out what SCUBA stands for.

I love my classes so far. Youthful optimism and sense of pioneering aside, there have been a few kinks in the beer funnel. (Just kidding. Don't have an intervention.yet.) Though I'm not sure what sin Dante would deem grave enough, I'm sure there is a circle of Hell where one would have to eternally find parking on or near MTSU campus. I make full use of three alarm clocks every morning, in the absence of a bellowing parent. College students live like hamsters, or some other nocturnal scampering rodent. The few adjacent hours of sleep I do get are sufficient, with a sham pillow firmly stuffed in either ear.

The distance of my classes and their concording buildings was not a problem. Not,that is, until I had a little episode with the scheduling office. The letter which included my schedule and class locations was the sole document on which I based my pre-class recconnaissance (spl? oh who cares.) Upon arriving at the exqact time and place mandated by said piece of lying paper, I entered the class that the letter told me would be my general math class. I introduced myself to the professor, made acquaintances, and generally laid my Spencerness down pretty thick. It was only through conversation with Stuart Taylor, an old High School friend who happened to be in that class, did I learn that this was not. the Math class.

The scheduling office had moved the class's location without notifying me, and with the Pipeline online shedule checker offline, I had to do some heavy footwork. For the next hour, I set about a Wizard of Oz-esque journey, with two likewhise jilted comrades, (I was totally the scarecrow. Rock on.) hopping building to building until we found the scheduling room in the basement of the theater. Disappointed by the lack of many-colored horses and giant floating heads, (though I was told "Nobody sees scheduling not nobody not no how!") I learned that the math class was in the difficult to access basement of the old gym. I arrived at the math class and joined my fellow mathletes in transporting a fox, chicken, and corn across a river.Seriously.

The first day of College classes finished, I clicked my heels and returned to College Suites. Today is Tuesday and I am between classes for a bit. I'll write again when I have free time, probably around Thanksgiving.