Somehow I survived.  And I know that this sounds like one of those things where you suddenly start feeling like you have whatever ailment you're discussing, but my left wrist is kind of hurting right now and I think I'm getting carpel tunnel.  It's either that or my self-diagnosed luekemia that nobody seems to have been taking as seriously as me over the last 4 years.

I was at the library yesterday from before 7:00am until about 9:30pm.  I never actually saw the sun.  Just had my face in a book (one that happened to be horrifically boring; it was my property law case book) until blood was coming out of my eyes.  Things of course are starting to get really scary at the law building; it's never a good idea to cram 148 people together who are all dealing with a whole new level of stress they've never encountered before which is directly proportional to the amount of work each of the other 147 people are doing.  I've been called a lot of names, seen some scary looks, and at one point around 8:15pm I'm pretty sure one girl tried to throw a chair at me but failed miserably when she realized it was stuck between a table and a wall.

So this morning I woke up and wrote about easements and covenants and equitable servitudes for several hours until my brain was about to explode.  The test actually went really well.  I never thought I would say this, but I think property may end up being my best final (don't tell anyone you heard that; that would be social suicide).

After the test my friend Liz and I decided to go workout at the school gym, which was a good thing because I haven't lifted weights since before the war and my muscles have atrophied to the level of a nine-year-old girl with a rare blood disease you can only get from those monkey spiders they have in Brazil.

At the BYU gym they make you wear these school-issued t-shirts; a requirement to get in (I've never really been sure why); I don't complain because I'm just so thankful that the school-issued blue shorts are optional.  I of course always consistently opt to wear my own shorts because I would wear a dress before even considering the option of touching anything like this.  I'll never be able to fully explain what these shorts look like; I only have to pray that your imaginations will not lead you astray.  They're tight, blue, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too short (and this is coming from a runner), and I'm pretty sure they were sown together by the Spanish Fork 4th ward relief society for one activity back in 1983 when a fireside speaker canceled last minute and they needed an idea fast (I've never been able to verify this however).

The shirts aren't too bad; they're gray and as long as you get one that fits you, you'll be fine.  The problem is, the locker room isn't always consistent on giving you what you want.  So today I walked up to the window to get a shirt and I asked for a small (the only sizes they have are "close enough", "way too big", "family sized", "Costco", "morbidly obese", and "shirt? Oh we thought we were making a parachute.")  

Naturally I always say "small" hoping that they'll get me the "close enough."  Sometimes I end up with the "way too big" which I cope with until cutting my workout short because I'm uncomfortable and I feel like a homeless man because the neck for some reason is big enough that the shirt falls off my shoulder if I bend to one side. I imagine this is due to someone sucking on it; you all remember that kid from the 4th grade who sucked on the collar of his t-shirts all day until it was stretched out enough that you couldn't tell which was the top and which was the bottom (If you were in the 4th grade with me, I was that kid; otherwise it was probably someone named Brad or Tyler).

But today, I knew it right when they threw it to me; today I got size "morbidly obese."  This time they had gone too far.

Eli: Don't you have a small?
Locker Room: That's all we have!
Eli: Seriously? Can you check again?
Locker Room: The smalls are all dirty!
Eli: So what do you expect the normal sized people to do in the meantime?  
Locker Room: Not my problem.
Eli: Well can I have a dirty one?
Locker Room: You can have what I gave you!
Eli: (Puppy dog eyes)
Locker Room: Do . . . you need anything else?
Eli: Have you got a sewing machine and some gray fabric?  . . . and home-ec classes?

Now I don't think I would have been unreasonable to just give the shirt back and call it a day but I did at least try it on.  Oh man.  If you had only been there.  The shirt covered my shorts.  And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, it had a huge hole in the back.  

So now I had a problem because I couldn't go up to the weight room like this but I came with a friend from school and I was her ride so I couldn't just leave either.  I quickly ran through about 12 friends in my head and tried to imagine what each of them would do and I figured that only about 3 of those would have just sucked it up and worn the shirt (I was very selective in choosing the 12; Alyssa, you were among the 9 that would have refused.  Congratulations).  Eventually I ran to another building on campus that has a locker room and found someone to trade me (that was another big ol' mess but somehow I ended up with a small in the end, 25 minutes after getting the first shirt).

Now I just have two finals to go.  The next one is the hardest and it's on Tuesday.  

Have a good weekend everyone!  Don't do anything I wouldn't do (trust me, that doesn't limit you much).

It just gets stranger~