...we weeeel we weeeeel rrrrrrrock ju

This week is going a bit slower than the last- where I had too many papers to count and a mid-term. I actually studied. Show of hands: who can believe it!? I was totally freaked for this linguistics exam, as the last one- well, we'll just say it didn't turn out so hot. So I spent the thirty six hours prior poring over selected texts, trying to memorize all I could. Luckily, it seems that the exam was a copy of the study guide, so I was well-prepared. I walked out and felt for the first time that week, that maybe I'm doing ok with Spanish here. Maybe I can hack it after all. I marched myself into the bathroom to rinse my face and was followed by a girl from the same class. She apparently didn't catch on to the foreign vibe, like everybody else does, and started blabbing to me about how she didn't even study and that this exam means practically nothing...only 15% of the final grade...yadayadayada. I, having just completed a total brain-dump could barely find the words to say- "Oh really? I didn't even realize...what's that about a project due next week?". She stopped talking and having realized that I wasn't of the Chilean persuasion, gave me a sympathetic little smile. "well, good luck." What she really wanted to say was-"oh, I can't believe how silly it was of me to expect you to be Chilean. I mean, since you're not, I'll obviously go on avoiding you like the plague."

It's an interesting topic because although the kids at the U. Chile seem to be deep into the 'let's grow our hair long, wear lots of clothing with Che Guevara on it, talk about equal rights and make out in the grass' movement, they really don't like to talk to the foreign exchange students. I've made two friends. One is German and hilarious but obviously doesn't count; and the other is a bona fide Chilean. However, I have a feeling that she may only really be interested in me because I speak English and she is an English major. I'm her English-speaking monkey.

oh, I'm sorry, my concentration has been broken because there's a nine-year-old singing the same line to Queen's We Will Rock You over and over again. I want to bury myself alive.

Whatever I was saying before doesn't matter. The only thing that matters right now is getting my goddamn iTunes going as fast as possible to cover up that terribly frustrating noise. Oh god, make it go faster! I would willingly listen to my own father sing the entire two-hour long songbook of Oklahoma! than listen to that line again. Oh it's bad, friends. Pray for me.