The First Day of Academic Summer

I have survived my first class of the summer, yea, verily, and though the professor be a hardass, I shall endure and emerge victorious. Actually, I'm not surprised at his academic rigor; Dr. Dixon-Carr, as he is called, is the Undergraduate Chair of the English Department, and I like him. Anyone who ejects people from their class for ringing or vibrating cellphones and then counts the ejection as an unexcused absence has buns of adamantium and balls to match and deserves an Elysian grotto in their honor, complete with buxom water nymphs. Very few teachers exercise the discipline of consequence these days, and it's always refreshing to see.

My only complaint is that he made us participate in a ridiculous icebreaker session-a game of "Talk to Your Neighbor and Introduce Them to the Class". I am quite retiring by nature, and talking to strangers produces paralyzing anxiety. I'm always afraid that when people look at me, they see not a person, but a talking chair, a living nuisance and unspoken plea for pity. The idea reduces me to a jittering, stammering, apologetic wreck. My voice and my blood pressure skyrocket, and my brain instructs my limbs, especially my legs, to twitch and jerk. So, there I sit, legs going up and down like a medieval drawbridge, squeaking and chattering like Flipper in a cripple suit. It's mortifying, and I'm sure it perpetuates the stereotypes up to which most disabled people are held, but the more I try to stop, the worse it becomes.

Research and academia keep me away from people, who terrify me.

House of Bad Faith chapter one will be up sometime after NCIS .

ETA: I lied. I'm just...knackered. Tomorrow, I swear.