Class on Thursday nigh absolutely rocked, which I knew it would. Jodi and I acted like eighth graders, and we have two friends in there from other classes who helped us be completely obnixous. I've already picked out the irritating girl I hate. She taught high school for ten years and is, apparently, not doing it anymore which makes me hate her out of sheer jealousy. She also really needed Rob to know how smart she is so every time he paused to take a breath she was right in there spouting off about anything she could. At one point when she was talking about difficulties in her own writing she said "Maybe I've just read too much crappy 10th grade writing..." then looks at me and says "No offense." I responded with "None taken; I'm not a tenth grader." She didn't really know what to do with that, which is good because it means I'll be able to level her pretty much any time I want to. Belize hasn't come up yet, but we're discussing D'Ambrosio's "The Point" next week so I'm sure it will.
Then on the way home I drove on 35W South and when I got to 494 I got an oogy feeling in my stomach because the night before a truck driver died there in an accident. I drove under the bridge that he hit, and I imagined seeing what must have been the last sights he saw alive. It wasn't much, the road ahead, traffic, buildings and brown grass. I wonder what my last sight will be before I die.
Friday morning I kept checking Jodi's blog like a stalker waiting for her rundown on Thursday night's class. When she posted, it was to inform us that she had been in a car accident that morning and her car, Ruby, probably didn't make it. I'm so glad that she's okay, and it was a second reminder in less than 24 hours that things can change on a dime and that cars and roads are hazardous no matter how careful you are.