8 a.m. is such an optimistic hour. I mean, regardless of your theory on mornings, it should be. It has potential.
If it’s April, “it’s spring / when the world is puddle-wonderful,” and on a good day, all the puddles from last evening’s temperamental rain shower have evaporated into something sparkly.
This morning I couldn’t quite see the sparkle inside my classroom. My well-tuned powers of observation did, however, immediately pick up on the painful wince on my professor’s face as she handed back my last test.
The red numbers on the front page spoke to me. They spoke in hyperbolese and said: “This is a failed fail of a test. This is the kind of fail that is still a fail if you reverse the two numbers of your percentage or if you add them together” –that from an old friend upon witnessing a test I failed worse than this one. Thanks, Jeremy.
Well, some memories are priceless. I’m sure I’ll miss this too. One day.