I'm a Pizza

Well, this week was hectic. No, more like it was characterized by activity, excitement, and/or confusion. There was a lot of homework assigned. You know what? I think that teachers just sit around and think we're bored, or we don't have anything else in life but their ONE class, or they're just downright sadistic and diabolical.

A real highlight this week was Monday. I was to give a French oral presentation class. It wasn't really supposed to be a scary thing, especially since this isn't a SPEAKING class, it's a LITERATURE class. That means we're not heavily graded on our speaking intelligence (which is REALLY great). Well, thanks to an excessively busy weekend, I didn't have as much time to prepare as I would have liked. That meant that I was doubly freaking out about this get-up-in-front-of-the-class-and-speak-intelligently-in-another-language-even-though-I-can't-speak-English thing.

Andrew, in his general goodness, took some time out of his busy schedule of homework to try to help me.

As useful as this effort was, it only served to make me more agitated when the little red YUMMIES! were gone away from me.

Andrew and I go to campus at 8:00 every morning for his Captstone class. I don't have class until 9:00. I spent an hour outside of my classroom awaiting my sure doom. Andrew sent many reassuring texts, and I promptly ignored them in my determinedness to vizualize the future of the world after my French presentation. It wasn't looking good.

I was going to single-handedly be the cause of the destruction of the entire world.

It was with this vision fresh in my mind that I heard my name called by my teacher in class. I went to the front of the room. All of the students were so eager to learn. They looked at me in great expectation, faces beaming with anticipation. They looked at me. I returned the favor, being too paralyzed to speak.

The class was growing dismayed at my lack of speech and awkward blank expression. People began to look concerned. I opened my mouth ...

And nothing came out. This didn't help matters. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage like a pig gathers truffles, and spoke.

My teacher and classmates seemed less weirded out when they heard some sound coming out of my mouth. They probably thought that I was needing to go through the entire evolution of speech just to give my 5-7 minute French presentation on Christine de Pizan. Taking some pride in my minute success, I again pulled in my five wits, and launched into my first use of words since Andrew had left me in front of my classroom that morning. I and my entire class wish I hadn't.

I just knew that the aliens were preparing to blast the world into smithereens. Why did I have to give MY presentation on the ONE DAY that the genteel, French-speaking aliens were passing by in their nifty flying machines?! I could see them in my mind's eye: ZUT ALORS! They were calling for backup! More alien ships approached Earth even as I was speaking! Earth was finished! I was responsible for billions of deaths!

The next thing I knew, I was sitting down in my desk, right next to my friend Tara. A while later, after some other presentations, class was over. I walked out of the room, not really looking where I was going, or what was going on. I sat down outside and waited for Andy. When he came, he gave me an expectant look. I gave him a blank, glazed over expression. He offered me a hug. I took the cinnamon bears.

Sweet solace found in a little red gummy. Who cares if I'm a pizza? Who cares if I told everyone? Who cares if the aliens are going to kill us all? Life was going to be alright.