Shoot Me Now

Oh jesus christ almighty.
Do I feel alright? No not slightly.
- Lilly Allen

I dread this class which I never knew I had to take. But here it is on my class form. As true as day. I grumble and make my way to the room. I'm already late as it is.

I look around me and everyone else is so young. I wonder if they notice how old I am. Am I the oldest undergraduate? Who must I call to check? Surely there must be someone I can call. What if they don't believe me and lock me up in the Discipline Office for... for... wanting access to confidential records? What if they tell my parents that I've been cutting this class for ten years? What if my parents force me to matriculate myself? I'll surely, surely die. There goes my vacation money.

Even my clothes are all wrong, I think. I used to think that chucks with a short skirt were, like, the height of fashionable rebellion. And while I here I am wearing them, I feel ridiculous and well, let's face it -- mainstream. Not at all like the fashion outlaw I fancied myself to be. I disappoint myself. I miss my regular office clothes. Shoot me now but it's true and I'll say it again: I miss my regular office clothes. I miss my boring job. Could it be that the real rebels are... are... those nerds in regular boring clothes who have submitted to the office dress code because they've found another form of dissension? Another outlet for rebellion more profound than fashion? And is wearing something like, say, ratty sneakers to the office when you're not supposed to still a form of rebellion if it just so happens you can't afford anything else? Oh god. I can't think clearly. I must find this class but it looks like I am lost.

Blimey. This is fucked. I wish I had stayed in bed.