Not much to report. Well, for me, "not much to report" means "nothing to say and a few thousand words to say it in."
Shame on me.
Wrote my essay on Wordsworth yesterday, because I still hadn't finished Frankenstein. I actually like the book, though, so I guess I'll work on reading it... in... my... copious spare time... which I am using... to update my LJ.
Anyways, I gave Willy way too much credit. If you ask my essay, every single word of "Strange fits of passion have I known" was selected specifically to support my thesis. Improbable? Highly. Impossible? Barely not quite no, which is precisely why it might work.
The paper actually went by surprisingly fast, actually, and I was done by eleven, which I think is a new record for papers I have started after five PM. ...then I took a shower and spent awhile recuperating, after which point it was two in the morning. I FAIL at getting to sleep so bad. So bad. So, so, so bad.
Though as
eltea's "This Day in History" widget informed us very early this morning, today is William Wordsworth's birthday, which gave me the opportunity to draw a birthday cake on a Post-It and stick said adhesive note on the front page of my paper. Someone should have given Wordsworth Nature for his birthday; I think he would have thrown a fit of joy and glee.I was going to show you a dumb/awesome gag comic I thought of, but I haven't drawn it yet. Instead, you can anticipate it until I do. And speculate on how amazing it's going to be. Because it will be. Other than the fact that I drew it. The joke, I think, is funny. All like three words of it.
And I heard a rather amusing/depressing/mortifying conversation in my second English class today. This is pretty much verbatim; for some reason I remembered it perfectly long enough to write it down at the beginning of my next class.
Girl sitting next to me: "...I had the flu and seasonal asthma."
Boy in the row behind: "That sucks."
Girl: "Yeah, it was hard. But then I got a week's worth of partying into two days."
Boy: "Yeah, I started on Thursday."
Girl: "Did you still go to section [on Friday]?"
Boy: "Yeah."
Girl: "Did you? ...It was my boyfriend's friend's twenty-first birthday, so we drove down to [???? -- someplace four hours southward]... [Detailed inventory of kegs here] ...I don't drink much anymore, but I can still pack in ten or fifteen beers without throwing up or even stumbling around much. But I feel it the next morning."
Say it with me, children:
FACEPALM.
Revel here in Davey Havok's gorgeous hair. And gorgeous teeth. And gorgeous... eyeshadow?
