Dinner at Jimmy's

I stood in Jimmy's room, trying to ignore all the signs of life that I would normally find interesting.  I was on the phone with my Dad.
"Can I come home a little later?" I asked.  I figured the answer would be no, because my Grandma was in the hospital, again.  And to some degree, rightly so.
"Why?"
"I got invited to a brunch with some friends."
"Okay."
I was relieved.  I wanted to squeeze out every last drop of goodness from this trip, especially since it looked like I wouldn't be coming home to anything good.  I had a bunch of business to attend to immediately coming home. 
This trip ended up being far more stressful than I thought it would be, mostly because the problems that I had last semester (my Grandma being sick, friends needing support, my various boy problems) all flared up again.  Mostly, it made me think that for all my trying to move on, nothing has really changed yet.  It's been a disappointment, to be honest.  I steeled myself to go back out to everyone.
Luckily, no one asked what the phone call was about.  Maybe, given what they know about me, they could have already guessed. 
Paul was working on shredding cheese for our meal.  Jimmy was cutting up onions.  There was nothing for me to do (though I offered to pay for my bit of the meal), so I watched.
"That's some great cutting," I told Jimmy.  It looked like the moves you see on one of those cooking programs. 
Jimmy didn't say anything, as usual.
"Jimmy won't take a compliment," I explained to Ben, who was sitting at Jimmy's computer in the living room area.  Ben laughed.  "I'm working on him."
Ben, meanwhile, was watching YouTube videos, everyone's favorite way to blow off time.  He told us he really liked Old Spice commercials, which sort of baffles me, because there's something gross and sleazy about so many of them.  We found one featuring everyone's favorite child star, Neil Patrick Harris.



Then Paul got on my political hero, Robert Byrd.  After looking awhile, we found what I consider his best speech, where he tells people he's older.  Ben watched it and said it was a really good speech.



Once Jimmy finished the dinner, we ate.  It was delicious.  Everyone fell silent as we ate.  Jimmy said that was a huge compliment in itself.  I'd be happy to have Jimmy cook for me all the time. 

Ben, it turns out, is a fan of Doctor Who.  Perhaps someone tipped him off to my love about it, because we got talking about it.  He was telling me he had just watched "The Lodger."
"That's the episode right before the two episode season finale."  Don't be surprised by this recall of mine.  I often am the one correcting people's knowledge of the show.
They were apparently showing that first episode of the finale, which I told him was good.  He was all baffled by my geekiness.  Get used to it, I thought.
We then started on the dishes.

This Final Term

Lately, I find myself annoyed with a few of my professors because I feel like they're not pulling their weight. It start three weeks ago, when a professor I've had multiple times gave a midterm. Although the basic format was the same, the questions asked on the midterm were surprisingly focused on a particular week's lectures, and the questions were short and vague. Neither of those things are like him. Usually, he writes questions that cover the widest range of topics that we got through in lecture. And they usually are pretty easy to write on, as long as you took notes in class and reviewed before the test. I've always felt that his exams were fair; he always asked us not to prove we knew everything but that we knew something about the topics at hand, and that we were critical thinkers who could synthesize that information in a way that made sense.
Today, in another class, we got a paper topic. That's right, a paper topic. Again, oddly vague, with little information, and from a professor who I usually think offers more. Offering one paper topic is risky, since the papers tend to be of lower quality. I also imagine the temptation to cheat is stronger, since everyone is already writing on the same topic anyway. I also dislike this professors bizarre habit this semester of asking us not to write traditional thesis papers but more creative narratives. I dislike that because I think it's important to be able to write coherently and persuasively, and because it seems like this class already struggles with that. (This professor complained, last paper, about students not using evidence to support their claims.)
I'm wondering if all my professors are so busy that they can't be bothered to do more for their classes beyond lecturing. If this is true, this could go either way for me. On one hand, they've had me before and both like me and think highly of me. So maybe they'll just kind of grade my work, checking to see I don't make any gross errors, and send me on my way. I have mixed feelings about that scenario, since I want to get good grades, but I also want to improve as a student, and making me feel bad about my work is the best way to motivate me. Rage has always been, for better or worse, the best way to get me to care. Or maybe my professors won't be paying attention and grade me down even if I don't deserve it. The latter scares me a little. I've worked so hard over these last few years, and I'm putting in more and more time to these classes. What I was really hoping to take this semester "off." I wasn't planning on giving up all my academic work, just taking some extra time to hang out for the last time with friends and have the kinds of good memories of this place.
I was thinking last week about the end of high school and how there was so much hooplah over it. I didn't want to do any of the things that one usually does: the ceremonies, the dances, the get-togethers. Some of it my Mom pushed me into doing, and the stuff we fought over the most was the stuff that I look back on and think was a waste of time. The few things I choose on my own were wonderful, and those are some of the limited good memories I have.
I wish I could choose to do those types of things now. I wish we had a senior skip day around here. Even though so many of my friends aren't seniors, hanging out with those that are, driving to and celebrating in Detroit or Canada or Cedar Point would be wonderful. I want to go to dances with these people, last dances. I want to have big parties with them. I want pictures, and presents, and, hell, even some tears. I need that now, and I'm sad that college graduation doesn't get treated that way. Graduating high school was glorious because I hated it there. But I love MSU and the thought of leaving makes me so sad. I want an opportunities to enjoy myself, with the people I love most, if only so I can say that I made every last second here count.