It's the end of the first (or the beginning of the second, depending on how you look at your week: wether it starts or ends with Sunday) week of round of Caitlin's Freshman BYU year. Good news is all my classes are at a respectable or above-average insteresting-ness level. But often times workload correlates directly with interesting-ness, which I'm fine with (heck, I'm at school, what else am I going to do besides school work . . .not a whole lot comes immediately to mind, at least during the days).
But here's how the real story goes: yesterday I came in from being in the library for no small increment of time (which is always a productive thing for me: Saturday library time is always excessively handy for me, I get to gettin' really easily [especially after a nice workout] and I can go for a long time . . .anyway, this is not the story you've come to hear). I walked into the apartment, trying to think of what I would do with my time in the apartment before the appointed hour of a dance I was going to attend. My thoughts were unceremoniously interrupted by the stench that hit my news. There are almost no words . . .the first that comes to mind is MEOW!!! and then: 'what the crap-crap is that?!' Let me try and describe to you the unsavory aroma that bombarded my olfactory glands. I have pondered this long and hard and this is what I've come up with: really, really, really fake cheese (like the kind on popcorn or really cheap cheddar snack mix, or the stuff in boxed mac and cheese) deep fried in a vat of nastey oil (the fried smell was more of a feeling, the idea that this synthetic cheddar had been fried) with just a subtle overtone of carmel (this was a come-and-go feature of this smell). Now this sounds like a strange, unreal smell to you . . .but I wouldn't lie to you . . .cross my heart: honest to blog (oh I adore Juno!!) this is what the whole apartment building smelt like. Upstairs, downstairs, in our icky back hall (that p.s. looks like someone was either murdered or had some life-threatening or at least some reputation-threatening [perhaps peeing right in the middle of the square of carpet repeatedly, because 10 feet either way to a bathroom is just too far to go] in that 4 square-foot space). I couldn't escape it. My stomach was empty from my studying-fest, so actual puking was strictly out of the question (besides the fact I hate the act) I was resorted to dry-heaving, covering my nose, swooning, whining and drenching our apartment in various preventative air-freshners (these actions were in various mixes of occurence, not in any specific order and not necessarily nor unnecessarily in the afore recited order). In short, I cannot imagine what someone was making to produce such a stench and it's a bit like a bad car accident or the bloody parts on house: you want to see it , but it's gross . . .so you don't . . . .but then again, you really do. I'm afraid it's some sort of old and beloved family recipe that makes the girl feel as if she's home again, whereas I felt like I had reached a whole new, unimagined level of Dante's Inferno.
Oh and I worked out 6 times this week AND went to a 4 hour dance, where I only stopped dancing 3 times.