oloriel | Argh, growl, seethe and other sounds of displeasure

It just took me almost two and a half hours to get home. TWO AND A HALF FUCKING HOURS. Of which it took FIFTY minutes from university to the highway (usually: 5-10 minutes), twenty minutes to Longerich (usually: 5-10 minutes), twenty-five minutes for a detour to bypass the hardcore traffic jam on the A1, fifteen minutes to get past the last bit of the A1, and half an hour for the last bit of the way (usually: 20 minutes). GRAAAAAH.

And I was somewhat pissed off before I even started, because I was surrounded by idiots in Creative Writing today. The girl and guy next to me were flirting loudly (and offensively, in my not at all humble opinion), the two girls behind me were exchanging their weekend plans, and there was much general murmuring and bullshitting. The greatest bit came when Prof. Aczel gave us our homework: Firstly, explain why two random lines of only-just invented poetry are so great; secondly, finish the poem that starts with these lines, using at least three out of five prompts produced in an earlier exercise. And the one girl behind me said to her neighbour, in a shocked voice: "Man, we have to be really creative here!"
... yes, indeed. The nerve of the professor to expect creativity of you! In a class named Creative Writing! *headwalls*
Also, it's terrifying how many people managed to make it past the intermediate exam with hardly any English skills. I was looking at the sheet of my neighbour - the flirting girl - after the stream of consciousness exercise, and it was... painful. AND CAN PEOPLE PLEASE LEARN TO PRONOUNCE THE ERUDAMN DENTAL FRICATIVE? You make the mad Noldo in my head twitch, kthx. Damnit, you're majoring in English. It's sad enough you don't know what "log" or "cutlery" means, but at least you should have learned the frigging phonetics after five to nine years of English classes and at least four semesters of basic English linguistics and literature. ARGH.

Yes, I'm an arrogant snob. I can't help it. Sometimes, I don't want to.

Japanese, on the other hand, is just as terrifying as it always was. Especially with Yoshioka-sensei talking at you full-speed and you understanding only about every fourth word. At least I knew the Kanji in all the lines I had to read. But why are we in lesson FIVE when the class only started last week? 助けて下さい！

And then I came back home to find out that the kittens have thrown down and perforated the plastic sunflower oil bottle and thrown down several whisky bottles. The whisky survived, the sunflower oil didn't. The other way round would be worse, but still.

GRAH.