I’m back from the dead, motherfuckers!
Sorry, that was rude of me.
What I meant to say was . . . good evening (or morning) and what a lovely day it has been (or is)!
Well, it hasn’t been completely lovely, but I came home, took a nap, and feel almost 100%. It’s as if the last six days don’t even exist. They’re hard to remember, really. Which, in some weird, twisted way, is good. I think?
I just never thought Chemistry of all things would help push me those few last steps out of my depression. I failed that shit in high school. I’m talking I ended the year with a 13%. That’s an F, just in case you need a letter grade for clarification. So I’m retaking it in college (oh JOY) and my professor (envision a shorter, younger, Michael J. Fox minus Parkinson’s) is just a speedy little bullet of knowledge. I mean the guy can’t slow down. He’s classically inattentive and hyperactive. He interrupts himself and he interrupts students when they’re asking a question and then gets confused when the student says “uh, you didn’t answer my question dude”. He can’t answer a question he didn’t hear.
We talk about heat capacity and specific heat and all these basic introductory chemistry terms, but he’ll go off on a tangent balancing equations and talking about reactants and products when most of the students in this class barely know what 9.342 + 4.32 is to the correct number of significant figures. He doesn’t have a lesson plan, he just walks in, starts playing YouTube videos and his playlist on Pandora, then does some demo with fire to get our attention. Once he has our attention, he loses his.
The other day we were talking about density, butane, and sulfer hexafloride. You know, dense gases that do this to your voice:
He lit a candle, sprayed a can of butane into a beaker, tipped the beaker over, and a blanket of fire spread across the table and tipped over the edges like water. The next lecture he and a student “volunteer” (really just a kid who was sitting in the front who happened to wear his safety glasses that day) boiled butane until it sent a snake of bubbles towards the ceiling. The professor lit a wick at the end of a metal pole which he gave to the student. A portion of the bubble snake separated and floated up to the ceiling. Another portion did the same and he instructed the kid to touch the flame to it. Obviously it erupted into flames and blanketed across the ceiling. But the professor didn’t want to stop there and the student, already standing awkward in front of 100 people as “that weird nerd who brings his safety goggles to lecture”, was bouncing in his shoes. My professor grabbed some of the bubbles with his hands in an attempt to toss them into the air. The kid didn’t understand what “light the bubbles when I toss them up” meant, and he lit them while they were resting in the professors hand. The fire wrapped around his wrist and fingers until the butane burned off.
I laughed my ass off.
As did the rest of the class.
And here’s the kicker:
He did it AGAIN.
The professor is trying to toss the bubbles into the air and this kid just lights him on fire again. This time the bubble sample was large and it wrapped around half his arm.
Anxiety is a bitch, especially when it makes you nearly responsible for the demise of your chemistry professor.
Today, he lit a stick with fire and grabbed the same kid from the lecture (this professor is suicidal I think) and had him hold the stick. He filled a test tube with hydrogen, shoved it over the burning stick, and scared the shit out of the girl beside me with a high pitched pop. She jumped a mile in her seat. My professor referred to it as “that kicking a dog sound”. I forgot to mention he makes several animal abuse jokes. They’re hilariously awkward.
You meet so many characters in college and half of them are the professors.
Sometimes being around people helps me. It takes my mind off myself most importantly, and sometimes kicks me out of my downer moods. But the switch is always bitter sweet because it makes me feel as if I”m going crazy. Flip-flopping around from one extreme to the other like a fish in a tub of sand. I forget all about this feeling when I’m flying high and it’s those times I convince myself I’ll never be depressed again, that I’ve finally conquered it, that i’ll do big things with my life within this next week, this next month, and become a YouTube star with a gaming channel and make 7.4 million dollars a year like PewDiePie.
Or there’s that weird feeling of being depressed but feeling . . . good. I don’t know how to describe it other than those words.
I just not going to think about it. Tomorrow is a new day. I may wake up different, I may wake up the same, but one thing is for certain: I will wake up with that image of my professor catching on fire. It might help me get out of bed in the morning. It’s always good to start off the day with a laugh.