lightning crashes
There is a growing concern of waking up for class tomorrow, but this is heavily negated by what is going on outside my window. I would probably shy from asking for anyone's notes if I do decide to sleep in, as I am virtually alone in the front row of my class. I say "virtually" because my row's population does indeed include two bookends and some girl that sits next to me, but these are largely inconsequential additions. The two missing links directly behind me are (I'm assuming) proud members of Satan's debate team, impassionately voicing such moralistic gems as "a woman should not be president" and "all illegal immigrants should be shot." So my presence in class tomorrow seems likely.
Yeah... the window: As I write (and the reason I do), a colossal, brooding, and possibly world-ending storm is slowly yet readily advancing upon the tiny hamlet of Starkville. There is no hope for sleep, not with searing white hot flashes of light penetrating my eyelids every ten seconds, punctuated by the occasional gun clap of thunder. This is not to say it is unwelcome, or that I'm angry at the intrusion; my window blinds are fully open for the first time this year in my attempt to catch the light show. This has led me to notice: A)I can see the tip of the drill field flagpole from my window, B)I have a window and C)Where is my roommate?
One more thing. Despite my knowledge beforehand of the storm's coming (props to John the weatherman Kelly, whose facebook page is entirely devoted to the art of weather forecast), Johnny "Fuck-you-im-on-tv" and the Storm Trackers felt it was necessary to break into Conan to warn me of possible hail in Tennessee. I might have appreciated their concern, had they not taken ten minutes to tell me this. I don't need to listen to three old men bloviating (thanks, Papa Bear) for the camera and getting off at the mention of the word Doppler. Just tell me there's fucking hail in fucking Tennessee, and get back to Conan.
This storm's a cock-tease. Back to bed.
Yeah... the window: As I write (and the reason I do), a colossal, brooding, and possibly world-ending storm is slowly yet readily advancing upon the tiny hamlet of Starkville. There is no hope for sleep, not with searing white hot flashes of light penetrating my eyelids every ten seconds, punctuated by the occasional gun clap of thunder. This is not to say it is unwelcome, or that I'm angry at the intrusion; my window blinds are fully open for the first time this year in my attempt to catch the light show. This has led me to notice: A)I can see the tip of the drill field flagpole from my window, B)I have a window and C)Where is my roommate?
One more thing. Despite my knowledge beforehand of the storm's coming (props to John the weatherman Kelly, whose facebook page is entirely devoted to the art of weather forecast), Johnny "Fuck-you-im-on-tv" and the Storm Trackers felt it was necessary to break into Conan to warn me of possible hail in Tennessee. I might have appreciated their concern, had they not taken ten minutes to tell me this. I don't need to listen to three old men bloviating (thanks, Papa Bear) for the camera and getting off at the mention of the word Doppler. Just tell me there's fucking hail in fucking Tennessee, and get back to Conan.
This storm's a cock-tease. Back to bed.