One. Week.

I can do this. I can. Just one week. It's not even like it's the absolute worst week of my life. It's just a bunch of catty brats at school, all older than 35. That's nearly 10 years older than me. And yet, they act like 15 year-old girls. Now, I couldn't stand 15 year-old girls when I was one.

So to hear that there are rumors going around. To deal with the women talking about me behind my back and pretending to be my 'friend' at all other times. These are things I don't take well. Right now I'm making the best of it and ignoring them completely. It may not be the most mature way of dealing, but it beats swear words.

I barely made it into the door today and heard the loud, annoying voice arguing with another loud voice about who's Fibromyalgia is worse. At least the second woman has the brains to announce "You know, I really don't want to have this conversation. I'm not going to talk about this anymore" only the other one continues arguing with someone who is no longer responding. This woman, the still arguing woman, is in her sixties. Yes, you read that right. Sixties. Or at the very least, late fifties.

One. More. Week. And I'm done with this woman for three months. Three months of sweet, precious freedom before I have two more classes with her and then nothing. With any luck, I will not have to see her ever again. This is amazing.

Keep me in your thoughts. There's still one more week to go. Just one though. Five days, just over twenty hours of class time.

Oh! But I get to take my pathophysiology final at home. With notes. There is some good things left.