Les Cours Sont Chiants

Like a big, creaky, ungreased wheel, classes have progressively started to roll out at L'Ecole Normale. Apparently they actually started last week, although my piano teacher told me they were starting this week. When I pointed this out to her, she shrugged. Ehh, it's probably not a big deal, right?
Anyway, today was a big day in that I had my first class--solfege. For the uninitiated, solfege is more or less ear training--the teacher plays something on the piano (which can be a simple melody or crazy counterpoint and moving chord voices) and you transcribe it, you learn to sight-sing complicated stuff on the spot, etc . etc.
There is nothing I hate more than solfege, and nothing I am worse at. I'm convinced it's one of those things you either "have" or don't "have," like herpes.
The subject matter aside, I am one of three people in my class, along with a guy in his early forties and a 14 year old girl. The image of us hunched around the piano, pitifully singing exercises we didn't know could have easily been a scene in a dark comedy. I was hoping, perhaps in vain, that once school started I would actually meet people and have some sort of human contact.
Even worse, classes and homework are just as bureaucratic and complicated an affair as applying for a carte de sejour--we have no less than six books for our solfege class, and our homework is along the lines of "Book #1, analyze and read exercises #45, #2, and #78, Book #2, sing #3 and #37" etc. etc. My teacher was shocked when I asked her if she could repeat our assignments. I guess this is something I have to get used to.
Tomorrow morning I have "dechiffrage"--I have yet to look this word up, but it either has something to do with sight-reading or untying nautical ropes. I'm wearing my sailing gloves, just in case.