I suppose that it is one of those nights where all you can do is audibly sigh and stare at the wall, even though your contacts are blurry. When feeling adventurous, you walk to the bathroom with a plastic blue cup and get water from the faucet because you don't feel like walking the flight of stairs to the kitchen. It doesn't even bother you that much that the water smells like eggs. It has been a long week, a long day, a long night-- Keep on keeping on, my friends, because tomorrow there is a promise of 50 degree weather. Ohioans will crawl out of their homes and bask in the sunlight like newts (assuming that newts bask).

I noticed the week started to increase in length while sitting in my Disabilities Literature class. The creative writing professors always prefer to have classes sit in a way that we can all see each other for discussion purposes. This involves us moving our desks or chairs into a circle, which usually turns into a blob. In this particular class of mine, we had the convenience of multiple desks previously pushed together to create a make-shift long table. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, we all walk into class and take seats around our long table with our professor sitting at the head.

During my last class, my professor made a joke that our seating arrangement reflected that of a dinner table. A few of the literary study majors chimed in, saying that it reminded them of Hogwarts. I winced, thinking that first of all, the table seemed a bit Last Supper-ish to me, if anything. Secondly, the amount of times that I hear Harry Potter and The Hunger Games referenced in the English Departments as high literary works of gold is unsettling. (I enjoy both of these works in book and film form. Fiction is difficult for me to personally write, and I appreciate these stories and their fan-base. Hermoine was totally inspirational to me in my elementary days. However, I will never geek out about them or act like they are the best book series ever written. They are not even my favorite examples of young adult fiction). Essentially, I could not imagine being an English Major at say, Cambridge, and talk about Harry Potter or The Hunger Games like my classes currently do. It's embarrassing.

My professor, however, admitted that she did not know anything about Harry Potter. I smiled to myself, finally relieved, and somewhat impressed that she had dodged such a large pop-culture bullet. A few of my fellow classmates gasped, bewildered that anyone, especially an English professor was not educated on the wizarding world of Harry Potter. "You must read the books!" said they, flabbergasted and suddenly alarmingly desperate. A returning-studies student (this detail is important) then suggested that my professor get the books on tape and listen to them in her car on her commute to and from work. She considered this, probably just to humor the class, and then tried to get on with the lesson. Next, panicked that they were losing her interest, multiple of my classmates (lead by our returning-studies friend) started banging their fists on the table and repeatedly chanting "Join the club! Join the club!".

It was probably the most bizarre and terrifying thing that I had ever witnessed. If we weren't about to discuss a Miranda July piece, I would have literally sprinted out the door, traumatized. Victimized, even.

If I walk into my classroom tomorrow to see select students wearing black cloaks and suspending fire mid-air in between their palms, I would not be the least bit surprised. I would also be in trouble, because I have never taken a Defense Against The Dark Arts class (Really pathetic and corny reference! Trying to stay neutral, readers). *dances with hat and cane out of the room*

Basically, it is almost the weekend. Copious amount of chocolate that I bought on sale and remembering just how cute wiener dogs are is how I plan to get through my Friday responsibilities.