frustrated musings
A.K.A. complaining... It's 9:13 on a Saturday night and I'm sitting in a coffee shop across from campus because my library closes at 8 (and presumably goes out to a halloween party with the rest of the world). I am here staring at blinking little cursor of mockery slapped in the middle of a blank page. What do I mean, exactly, by blank?? I mean blank, I mean that my word doc is nothing but a sea of white. I am angry. I'm under the distinct impression that this is the first Saturday night I have taken to attempt to write a paper and now I see why I will likely make it my last. Perhaps a miracle will happen and my professor will have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than to check his email searching for frustrated students seeking help writing papers on his favorite thing in the world: British literature. I think I will take my blank page, save it with a title and call tonight a success.
(oh look... another group of people walking by in costume, how un-fun of them)
(oh look... another group of people walking by in costume, how un-fun of them)