Concerning that place in which naughty people reside

Last night, I set my alarm for 5:30am so that I could rise bright and early--or should I say dark and early--to finish my Counterpoint* homework. I suppose that my alarm went off at the unholy time for which it was set, but alas, my unconscious self chose to ignore it and sleep on. My roommate's alarm began to go off at 7 (I say began because it was still going off forty-five minutes later, when I left for school...if there is such a diagnosis as Chronic Snoozer, this roommate is definitely a candidate for said disease). In any case, my point would be: I did not wake up in a timely fashion; therefore, my Counterpoint homework did not get done.

Before reading on, there are two things you must understand:

--one must always do one's homework for Counterpoint, or one may as well stick oneself with three hundred thousand needles as go to class

--my professor for Counterpoint is a very serious man who speaks German and plays the organ for a living

I got to the HFAC about five minutes to eight, so I whipped out my workbook and textbook and attempted to begin my homework that was due in 300 seconds. Needless to say, I did not get very far at all. My teacher, Dr. Bush, arrived, and I knew I was toast (I had been dangling onto the frayed thread of hope that class would suddenly and mysteriously be cancelled). We began class by singing some Bach chorales, during which I attempted to finish scribbling down a rough outline of the chapter we were supposed to have read (my "outline" basically consisting of the bolded titles of each section of the chapter, and a few lines I skimmed here and there), and hoping against hope that I wouldn't be called on to share any of my workbook exercises with the class, as I hadn't even started them.

Well, since my class size is only about 15 people, and of those 15 only eight or ten are brave enough to attend regularly, the odds of my deadly secret being discovered were inevitably stacked against me. And so, I now proceed to relate to you a short conversation, verbatim, that I would never have guessed I would have in my LIFE, let alone at BYU.

Dr. Bush: Okay, let's look at the workbook exercises. *pause* Britny, why don't you discuss the first exercise for us?

Me: (in tiny, ashamed voice, not looking him in the eye) I'm sorry...I didn't do my homework.

Dr. Bush: You're going to hell.

Gulp.

*a type of music theory/a really genius and complex way to compose music ('genius' as in you must BE a genius--like Bach--to have the capacity to write it)