so, you know...
So, um.
that paper I was supposed to have done in - what was it - late March about Caliban? The that, if I don't turn it in, I don't get a grade? That paper?
Turns out I never actually wrote it. at all.
And you know that , funny thing, what is it, that essay for Major British Writers, due tomorrow? Ha, ha, funny thing, barely in the rough draft phase.
And that thing, whachamacallit, sleep, that I was supposed to get last night? Didn't happen. didn't happen. Four measly hours. Yeah. Fun fun times.
Yeah. Jesus fuck what am I going to do. I have until Friday for the Caliban paper. Tomorrow for the paper of Mrs. Dalloway in Oscar Wilde's voice. (Should I hold a seance?)
It's like I've been saying all day. I've had Ominous Latin Chanting in my head lately, but that's normal: this is finals season. Now suddenly it's turned into ominous chanting in the black tongue of Mordor. Yeah. It's that kind of a day.
And I don't even want to think about what job or internship or volunteer whatever I might do over the summer. Thinking about the future just leaves a kind of - a kind of - I don't even want to think about it.
And a nun from my high school - famed for the Pinnochio ruler with which she upheld school dress codes with an iron will - passed away on Saturday. So it goes.
On the bright side, I never have to take another 9 a.m. French literature class again sweet hallelujah. Just the final on Saturday. FML.
that paper I was supposed to have done in - what was it - late March about Caliban? The that, if I don't turn it in, I don't get a grade? That paper?
Turns out I never actually wrote it. at all.
And you know that , funny thing, what is it, that essay for Major British Writers, due tomorrow? Ha, ha, funny thing, barely in the rough draft phase.
And that thing, whachamacallit, sleep, that I was supposed to get last night? Didn't happen. didn't happen. Four measly hours. Yeah. Fun fun times.
Yeah. Jesus fuck what am I going to do. I have until Friday for the Caliban paper. Tomorrow for the paper of Mrs. Dalloway in Oscar Wilde's voice. (Should I hold a seance?)
It's like I've been saying all day. I've had Ominous Latin Chanting in my head lately, but that's normal: this is finals season. Now suddenly it's turned into ominous chanting in the black tongue of Mordor. Yeah. It's that kind of a day.
And I don't even want to think about what job or internship or volunteer whatever I might do over the summer. Thinking about the future just leaves a kind of - a kind of - I don't even want to think about it.
And a nun from my high school - famed for the Pinnochio ruler with which she upheld school dress codes with an iron will - passed away on Saturday. So it goes.
On the bright side, I never have to take another 9 a.m. French literature class again sweet hallelujah. Just the final on Saturday. FML.