My other back pocket began to vibrate. It was my phone. Damn that thing.

"Hey Colleen." I try to say in a pleasant voice. It was my aunt. I legitimately loved and enjoyed her. I just wasn't in desire of a phone call. Am I ever?

"Hi Addison! I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh no, just got out of class. What's up?"

"Dennis and I are going home on Saturday and wanted to know if you wanted a ride up with us."

Did I want to go home? Bah. I hadn't been down here for even a month. Plus that would mean no cigarettes for a few days. I wouldn't be able to wear a lot of the clothes that I've worn this week, because they reek of cigarette smoke, and probably of weed as well. I wouldn't be able to smoke! Honestly, what a horrid concept. That would also mean no drinking this weekend. They may as well castrate me.

"Oh, no I don't think I need to go home this weekend. I should be fine. I'll probably have a lot of homework to do as well," Ironically, I wasn't lying. God knows what I'd have to do this weekend, and God knows what I'd actually bother to do. I've never been efficient in getting anything done.

"Thanks though, I appreciate it." I finished.

"Oh not a problem! Dennis and I will be going up nearly every weekend if you ever need it. How are classes so far?"

"Oh they're good." I lied. Already I was regretting signing up for all the classes that I'm taking this semester. They're all a joke.
For example, Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences seemed legitimately interesting. When signing up for classes, what would interest you more? The already dull and loathsome Finite Mathematics or the crisp and refreshing Finite Mathematics for Social and Biological Sciences? I wish mathematics interested me, really. Then I wouldn't have to fuck with so many English and Writing credits. I'd also appear to be more intelligent. I'll laugh, hysterically when someone besides an employer labels me as intelligent. Besides, you're never really intelligent in the eyes of an employer, when they take advantage of you and have you do bitch work for little incentive.

"Finite Math is particularly interesting." Yet another lie. I've mastered lying by the time I was fifteen, particularly to hide that I was smoking weed or drinking, from my mother.

The first day of finite, the professor, who was everything that a professor was stereotyped to be, besides perhaps that he was without a pipe, greeted the class with "Good 'math'ternoon!" Jesus H. Christ. I wanted to drop the class that instant. Class was deplorable, likely because I learned finite already from a damned survey class in high school. So rather, I would reduce myself to getting on my laptop, to play mindless computer games, or chat with people on Internet Relay Chat, people that I actually know from a specific website, but will never meet in real life. So I might be a nerd. A vegan, clove cigarette, weed smoking, and alcoholic nerd. And I guess overtly critical of myself.

One day in class, a girl complained to the professor about a glare on the large monitor. The blinds in the lecture hall, a terrible color, like a vomit-beige, were open, and the sun was beating down on the charts that the professor had hand written illegibly. The professor proceeded to leave stage, and go over to the blinds, and fiddle, for at least ten minutes with the blinds, while two hundred students just sat and watched, not learning anything, until they were just right in his eyes. Another instance, and God knows why he even bothered, the professor felt that the lecture hall was insufficiently lit, and tinkered with the lights to the point that we all sat in the dark, and for at least another fifteen minutes, until he was able to get the lights to warm back up. I constantly marvel to my friends and family that it's tuition well spent.

"...Addison?" said Colleen, still on the telephone. Oh shit. The nicotine was affecting me, surely. I lost control of myself for a second, appreciating the crackling of black clove cigarettes, and while gaining control of the present state of affairs. There was something so notoriously sweet about that that cigarette...
"Oh! Sorry Colleen. I'm just trying to get the lock off of my bike...Hey! You know what? I wouldn't mind going home now that I think of it. I'm sure I can pick up some stuff that I meant to take down with me initially." Argh, what am I doing? Suddenly the atmosphere here on campus just wasn't so friendly, as though a terrible vibe had developed over the weeks, and I very suddenly wanted to be home on familiar grounds. Jesus, am I certain I want to commit to all that would ensue, and what would be highly lacking of?

"Yeah!" She replies, "Maybe it'll be good for you to go home, and your parents would obviously appreciate it." Ah but of course she would insinuate that I should bother to communicate with my parents besides when they call inquiring about numerous things. "When are you ready to leave? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah" I reluctantly said, "I can be ready to leave like an hour after my final lab, which would be like 4:30 or 5pm."

"Dennis and I will be ready to leave at 5:30 if that's fine."

"That's not a problem at all." I said, smiling, to be grateful for the fact that I'm getting a ride.

"Great! We'll call shortly before we'll pick you up. Talk to you tomorrow Addison!"

Click. The line goes dead. Jesus she can talk a lot. I should appreciate the phone call and for the ride home, though. I look at the phone, and the call only lasted for three minutes and forty-two seconds. Maybe my perception of time is just off this evening, rather.