MUS Story intro

Valerie had never seen anyone uglier than her new philosophy professor. Honestly, how could she ever be expected to understand Nietzsche and Hume if she had to look at that face everyday? It didn’t help that she came to class hung-over every morning, but that was mostly her roommate’s fault—he always gave her vodka instead of water when she was too drunk to notice. This quarter was going to be different, she reflected, she was going to get her shit together and come up with a reason for living . . . or die trying. She tried to concentrate on his words without looking at him, out of all those intelligent dead people, there had to be at least one that had figured everything out, they were supposed to be geniuses and all. She tried to write down everything he said, word-for-word, on her Mac, but soon realized she was looking at celebrity gossip sites. “Fuck!” she thought, “I am such a fucking disaster.”

She discovered that she had actually said it out loud when she felt eyes on her; she looked over to see that an attractive male classmate was staring at her. She resisted the urge to flip him off and began manically typing notes. He continued staring and then scribbled something on a piece of paper and tossed it in front of her. She unfolded it and read:

“The supposition that the future resembles the past, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived entirely from habit.” --David Hume, 1737

Oh God, was that supposed to be deep or something? She ignored him and tried to concentrate on the lecture, this wasn’t fucking American Beauty, where some guy acts a little different than all the rest, so she is all like, “wow he really gets me,” and falls in love with him and they have lots of ridiculous sex. “What a pretentious snob,” she thought.