What kind of day it has been

Windy. Also known as GOD-AWFUL. Wind is my least favorite weather, and if nothing else, it makes intelligent design completely moot, b/c the inventor of wind is obviously an ass. An ass who hates me.
Wind literally makes me feel insane (as this post's sentence structure will reveal—form follows function, you know)—all normal human instincts escape me and I just want to hibernate. It infiltrates my typically you-think-i'm-stoned-but-i'm-just-apathetic/oblivious demeanor and creates sundry pathetic situations.
Here's what happened to me today, all of which should and shall be blamed on the wind.

First, following my first trek through the evil element, I almost started crying in front of a graduate assistant I hardly know—not that knowing her would make that any less embarrassing. I made my worst grade in her class last semester and I really, really want/have to do better. This task seems impossible. I've been trying to get more involved in class, and seeking guidance as often as possible, yet both the professor and the graduate assistant of this class speak in a style with which I am thoroughly unfamiliar. They speak in broad, enigmatic statements, in what can only be an effort to lead me to about a billion possible answers for the extraordinarily simple question I asked. I think they are doing it to torture me. Also, after 7 months, the teacher thinks my name is Ms. Chambers. awesome. awesomely good chance of improving this grade. So today, in the middle of my conference with said G.A., I literally had to croak, “Thanks…”, grab my stuff, and run out after she would not answer my question for the trillionth time and instead launched into some of the broadest advice I've ever heard, something about as helpful as "just try your best and you'll be fine" or "you're on the right track!" At this point, my eyes were stinging, and I knew I was about to lose it.
What the fuck? Why is this spontaneous flood of emotion happening to me? Can it be the wind? Most certainly, it can.

Next, on my way home for lunch, I was nearly blown over on my bike -- no mean feat! congrats wind, you bastard. At this point, I already wanted to allow myself to succumb—to tip to the right that infinitesimal amount that stands between balance and disaster, to collapse into the grass, 100 pound backpack and all, and lay there crying in a big beige heap until the wind died down.

Yet I persevered. And got home to discover that what was once an old-in-a-charming-way house has revealed itself for the shanty piece of shit that it is. The fence had blown down in the backyard, ensuring an afternoon of Bear escaping and me running after her, begging her to return in exchange for a shit load of treats (I know, “no bad dogs, just bad owners” pile on, why don’t ya?!). Additionally, two gutters had fallen down, which i tried to repair, creating an hilarious scene for the stoned kid next door. As I tried to eat/ drown my sorrows in my massive bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with Peaches, the wind was whistling through the house with such force that I was hardly able to hear myself crunch.

After pedaling back through the wind (i had to trick myself into thinking it had stopped in order to leave the house) I had to excuse myself during my class. Apparently, my two-month-old cough (i'm allergic to snow) had, as a result of exposure to wind, turned into an embarrassingly frequent and severe-sounding hacking/gagging noise. With tears (from the cough this time) streaming from my eyes, I traipsed past 100 students while simultaneously trying to hold in the cough and put my sweater on over my favorite shirt, which incidentally had holes the size of My fists in the armpits. (saddest thing yet: I think this shirt is exceptionally flattering) It took about 10 minutes to calm the cough and catch my breath, which also leads me to resolve to stop unnecessary (read: sober) smoking. Dammit. Now the wind has my pride and my recreational activities.

Wind's one redeeming quality is that it never fails to remind me of abbie. Wearing her puffy orange and brown jacket, thrusting one arm forward, she would push through the wind like a mime, fighting against all the invisible shit they push against, in order to fight our way from the Bean to our beds, and then back again - a well traveled path for us in those days. Also, the smell of skunks reminds me of abbie. Story for another time…

With this amusing image in my mind for sustenance, i shall go once more into the breach, force myself to travel the 4 blocks home, and maybe, just maybe, never leave again.