You arrive at your dorm thirty minutes later than you planned due to bicyclists, uncooperative street lights, and women walking side by side with baby strollers, taking up the entirety of the sidewalk and forcing you out into the traffic filled streets where drivers are more than willing to damage their car’s body work and run you over.
You stumble into your room, tripping over several pairs of shoes that you will never pick up, despite what you might say to yourself in those delusional moments when you imagine that you will one day have a life. You throw your backpack down; unable to remember exactly what it is you schlep to class every day that weighs as much as a baby elephant. As you look down, you realize you dropped your backpack on your foot. You cuss more than is required. You do it in German, because those are the only vocabulary words your brain is capable of remembering for more than five minutes.
You turn on your computer and unload your bag, removing a heavily dog-eared German/English English/German dictionary, a textbook as useful as a brick, your pen, and your class notebook (the red one, because at the time it seemed German-ish to you, but you couldn’t figure out why. You have since deduced the reason: it reminds you of the Nazi flag. You feel terrible. You never get over the feelings of guilt). You stare at the computer screen, breathing in through your nose and exhaling through your mouth in a vain attempt to mentally prepare for the homework ahead.
You look down at the syllabus.
You forgot that it was entirely written in German. After twenty minutes of frantic searching both on the internet and in your dictionary, you have deduced that not only do you have twice as much work as you thought you did, but you will have to spend an extra hour reviewing grammar and vocabulary just to figure out what the hell it is you’re supposed to be doing in the first place.
And you do it wrong anyway.
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