For those of us that flew over break, the taste of Diet Canada Dry is now fading from our palettes — and the realization that there is still learning to be had is settling in. This last, long slog is already zapping our strength and mental stamina as students genuinely think school should only be a winter ordeal — we're going to be inside anyway. School begins to look about as necessary as a sequel to "Requiem for a Dream." My interest in school changes faster than Jake Gyllenhal's transformation from a rugged-looking cowboy to a bad '70s porn star in "Brokeback Mountain."

Going back to class is tough. It's not like going back to playing guitar after not playing it for 6 months — it's like going back to the dentist after living solely on Coca-Cola, pixie sticks and battery acid without flossing.

Despite this, I went to my first class, a Monday 8:50. It was pretty rough after watching the Chuck Norris classic "Lone Wolf McQuayde," followed by two kung-fu movies, followed by "Anchorman," followed by "Walk the Line" in a row. I considered just crapping my pants instead of getting up … I mean really considered. Suddenly, class is tough work again. My hands have ceased to function as tools over break — other than to grip a remote control. I'm incapable of writing notes.

So, by Wednesday, I take my derelict hands to class and I can only daydream. Professor Suri, I know the Roosevelt Corollary is going to be on the midterm, but I can't write … and I realize the McBurney Center won't buy my excuse to have an official note taker. Rather, I only fantasize about what my textbooks are doing at home.

I kind of believe my texts live in a world much like "Toy Story" — coming alive when I exit the room — except for books, not toys. And they're all mean and angry. Knowledge gives us power — and power corrupts and leads to death. The books from my two history classes gain up on my Public Opinion and its Effects reader, which only ends in violence. "I'm about public opinion, you sons of bitches. Poll this, asshole!" my reader would say as it throws a stapler toward them. Then my Criminal Law book opens up its binding and has all sorts of knives and guns and starts shooting everything.

Due to listening to Rage Against the Machine before, "Killing in the Name of" is stuck in my head. Killing in the name of what? Is it supposed to be obvious? Am I that dumb? Are they against war? And what would happen if Norah Jones and Fiona Apple had a fight to the death? The resulting album would be either pretty bouncy or fairly depressing. Class has to be close to over now.

My attention then turns to focus on the old maps hanging on the wall. Surely, they were made before Alaska and Hawaii were annexed, probably before India became independent. UW is an old school. There aren't a whole lot of new schools, in reality. I start thinking about whether schools should start growing or new universities should be built to accommodate to the country's growing population. UW-Wisconsin Dells: graduating more than half of the nation's lifeguards and hotel managers.

There's a rush for the door — class has to be ending. I run home to eat some lunch. I look over my NCAA bracket to remind myself of my ineptitude of sports knowledge. I look over at my roommate's bracket and I know he put a lot of sweat and tears in his — I can tell because of its sticky residue. Kind of like the same residue that's around his worn socks in his hamper and our kitchen's melon baller (which I've actually never seen him use). "Law and Order" is on because it's always on — I watch a couple minutes then it's back to class.

A few buses pass on State Street, and I consider throwing myself into traffic — not because I'm suicidal or attention-seeking, but because I think that'd be the greatest excuse to get an extension on my take home midterm. Is that weird?

During class I get a midterm back. It's been quite a while since taking it (before spring break), and I reevaluate how I think I did. It's kind of like finding an old wallet in your sock drawer — you're extremely pleased if you find a twenty in it, but somehow pissed off if there isn't any money in it. This is a $20 day.

The day is wrapping up. I can tell because I think my deodorant is wearing off and my pits are getting sweaty. And because this is Wisconsin and it's damp outside and I don't know if it's winter or spring any more, my shoes smell because they got wet. And this being a small class, I think everyone else can smell my feet. And this is the end to my typical day until May — eerily checking out the room to see if they suspect my foot odor while getting a dirty glare from my TA for staring at the co-eds.

Matthew Dolbey is a senior who backpacked in his parent's backyard and explored the cavernous futon during spring break. He enjoys e-mails from readers getting their oil changed and can be reached at [email protected].