It's like you know you have something to say, but lack the time and energy required to say it. So instead, you content yourself to say nothing with your words, and in so doing appease yourself if but for a moment. The Sandman's a-comin'. Duck and cover. But he will never arrive. The next class starts in five minutes; not enough time for the Sandman to make his way around to you. It's one of those times where you know that innumerable amounts of excrement are about to fly into a whirring fan, and that you know that there is nothing you can do about it but cover your mucus glands and hope you don't get covered too thoroughly. It's one of those times where you know it won't last long, but that while it's going on it's hell, and that almost makes it worth avoiding. And avoid it you would, but for the fact that things would turn even more sour if you did, and the fecal matter would not be so easy to wash off either. It's the time to walk in, head held high, ready to take the blow, because it is amazing what good fortune can come of a confident demeanor--so you tell yourself, at least. But this is not the time to let the fear take you, ladies and gentlemen. This is the time to harness the fear and use it to ride off into your glorious sunset that will be waiting for you on the other side of the whirring fan.

For all intents and purposes, hasta la byebye.