Gloss rhymes with hair!
I figured that I should post something of substance, but I was/am way too lazy to come up with something you guys haven't heard before. So what I am going to do is post something that I wrote but never posted. This is a blast from the past; all the way from February 23rd, 2007:
I'm feeling wordy, so what better way than expelling those historically-shaped combinations of letters onto ye old weblog?
The first week of school is pretty fabulous. You can journey onto campus, not knowing who or which ex-classmates are around the next corner. Not unlike the chocolate box in Forrest Gump, you never know what you're going to get. Then after the first seven days of the new semester/quarter, realization quickly sets in that you're stuck in the same routine, the same rut, for the next sixteen or ten weeks, and it is in the first hour of your first class of the first school day of the second academic week when you decide that, yes, it is indeed time for a vacation.
Regardless of how it happens twice or three times a year, you fall into the same trap each time the new session begins. One week of happiness is immediately followed by fifteen or nine weeks of painful torture.
Sometimes I wish I were illiterate so that I could appreciate the professor's insistance on reading to the class every. single. word. of the class syllabus. But as it is, that asinine gesture drives me up the wall.
I'm feeling wordy, so what better way than expelling those historically-shaped combinations of letters onto ye old weblog?
The first week of school is pretty fabulous. You can journey onto campus, not knowing who or which ex-classmates are around the next corner. Not unlike the chocolate box in Forrest Gump, you never know what you're going to get. Then after the first seven days of the new semester/quarter, realization quickly sets in that you're stuck in the same routine, the same rut, for the next sixteen or ten weeks, and it is in the first hour of your first class of the first school day of the second academic week when you decide that, yes, it is indeed time for a vacation.
Regardless of how it happens twice or three times a year, you fall into the same trap each time the new session begins. One week of happiness is immediately followed by fifteen or nine weeks of painful torture.
Sometimes I wish I were illiterate so that I could appreciate the professor's insistance on reading to the class every. single. word. of the class syllabus. But as it is, that asinine gesture drives me up the wall.