I had the sociology class today, and I'm certain it's infinitely better than the alternative. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against opera but, phantoms aside, I'm not terribly attached to it. The Magic Flute excepted. And La Boheme. Anyway.

It was a bit of a trial making it to the class on time, as I had Stagecraft immediately beforehand. A small class, that one. Just twenty of us, and I'm sure at least a fourth are only in it because it's a four-credit class. But Warren is also there, which is nice. It's comforting to see a familiar face, even if it is topped by faded technicolor hair.

I have sixty pages to read before the class meets again on Wednesday, though I'm thinking I'll read it all tonight and get a head start on my crew work tomorrow morning before I have to head for English. Might as well overacheive for a little while before the procrastination sets in.

Something I've noticed, incidentally: people are smart here. I've been educated in classes I could easily spend daydreaming and reading under my desk and still keep my grades in the nineties (except math, mind, but let's discreetly pass that one over, shall we?). Granted, that seems terribly snobbish on my part, and I s'pose it is. Woe, it's not easy being a seasoned bibliophile... But it's unsettling knowing that now I'm bunched together with a few thousand other students who could--and may--have spent their high school years furtively reading (or not; reading in class has become something of an outdated practice; nowadays brats spent classes hiding headphones under their hair and typing text messages) and still pulled through at the top of the class. Meaning I'm among my own kind, so to speak (though I have yet to find another Mizfit, but then, with my people skills, one can't expect much at this point; but there are still the Aida girls, and another lass I've exchanged some good-natured tongue-lashing with). Meaning I'll actually have to start trying now. As in Making a Genuine Effort. During the IB nastiness, profs went through great pains to explain just how beneficial the program was as far as college preparation went-- how it was on, or beyond, that academic level, etc. And yes, it was all a lie, but that's not the point. The elusive point is, they never said a thing about having to try harder. Though now that I think about it, they probably never assumed a few lackadaisical kids weren't already devoting their all to the program.

Makes it sound like a fascist political party, neh? The Program... Not too far from the truth, either.

So maybe I should've Applied Myself a little more; I've always suspected that, but being slothful has always taken priority. We'll just have to see if my shortcomings catch up with me, then. It's going well enough so far, at least.

Except the social scene. People are cordial and blandly polite and in some cases so artificial it's a wonder they don't melt into plastic puddles all over the commons. But I haven't formed a Bond with anyone yet. This may be because I crave solitude, it may be because there are certian facades I have no desire to succumb to, it may even be because I'm misanthropic. I just hope it isn't because there's no other soul on campus with a penchant for dusty books, graveyard humor, and basically all the other peculiar little fondnesses I've fallen victim to. Or at least someone who'll put up with me for having fallen for such things-- hi, mao, Amarette. But misanthropic or not, it'd be relieving to know at least one person would laugh if I started rambling about, say Marius's shoe fetish.

And yes, I am convinced the boy has one. I'll cite examples soon.

So now I'm off to read about power tools.

Adieu.