Three-hour classes are quite possibly the worst invention of all time. Tonight I had my first lecture class of the semester. I managed to stick with it for the first hour and forty-five minutes or so, but it was all downhill from there. Suddenly, I went from writing decent notes to writing thought-provoking notes like this: Fun question of the night: How do you pluralize 'epiglottis'?
And when I started writing down how many minutes I had left in class, I knew I was really in trouble.
30 minutes left in class. YAY.
25 minutes left--I've already mentally checked out.
And then it got more off topic.
These desk chairs are decidedly not good for me. Ugh.
I'm rather proud of myself--I managed to bring up Bulimia into the lecture. Go me!
Now that's what I call graduate level work. Oh, and before I forget, I also managed to announce to the girl next to me that that one part of the larynx we were looking at resembled a butt. Because it did, seriously.