Yesterday, on my way to Chinatown to catch the bus back to Crimson City, the 2/3 was stuck at 96th St. for close to 15 minutes because of a water main break on 14th St. Then it stopped for another 5 minutes in between stations before finally lurching into Times Square.

Just before we got into the Times Square station, the woman standing next to me said, "Can I get around you and past your bag?"

"Sure," I said, "but I'm getting off here too."

"That's obvious," she snarked. "It's going to take you forever to get out with that bag."

Oh, impatient rider of subways! I missed my 3:30 bus and didn't even make the 4:00 bus, but did I feel the need to be snitty to my fellow passengers? No, I did not. May you get your tongue burned by your grande cappucino this week, emitter of unnecessary snark.

The duffel bag on wheels that I borrowed from someone for spring break caused me some amount of muscle anguish, as I lugged its oppressively lumpy (TM BC) shape down several streets of slowly walking gawkers in Chinatown. Oh, slow walkers and middle-of-the-sidewalk stoppers! May your wireless connections be ultra slow this week.

While I'm on the topic of annoying persons, let me not forget the bus driver from Philly to New York, who ate a salad while driving 50 mph on a bridge, and then proceeded to talk in A VERY LOUD, CARRYING TONE for half an hour. This was exceeded in annoyance levels only by the young man across the aisle, who felt the need to let the bus know that he was not really looking for a relationship with Kate, just some quality hanging out, and who was very excited about seeing "Sin City" that night, and whose female roommate said, "You're like me, with testicles," but with whom he wouldn't take the plunge because living with her was like a perfect marriage (they bought fish last week). Oh, loud, obnoxious, invaders of personal space otherwise known as inconsiderate users of cellular phones! May you experience a paper cut from a manila file folder and (because you are SO annoying) have uncontrollable, evil-smelling flatulence while in bed with your loved ones.

I got to Crimson City at 8:30 pm and proceeded directly to pho, with no stops and no passing through GO. Ah, pho, pho, pho! Healing pho. Life-giving pho. Lifter of spirits and provider of low-calorie nutrients. May your makers recline on pillows of silk and damask, and drink cappucinos that always are the perfect temperature, have lightning-fast wireless connections, never handle manila file folders, and be immune from flatulence for all time.

I came back to my dorm room exhausted and most displeased by being here again. Have you ever felt the physical sensation of something sucking out your soul? Neither have I. But I imagine it would feel much like the moment I stopped to switch arms in dragging the oppressively lumpy duffel bag, and paused, looking at the law library in all it's longer-than-a-football-field, white marbled glory. It's spring, but not here.