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Reading: the names of cities on my map of the UK. Hehe. Bedford. |
Thursday, March 13th, 2003On my mirror, I like to keep a postcard of Sylvia Plath. Not only is she pretty to look at, but on days like today she reminds of why I shouldn't commit suicide. Or at least, why I should put it off until I've written a book or two. I suppose Virginia Wolfe would serve as a better example of this. She lasted longer. But I don't have a postcard of her.Today was just as grey as yesterday, but with the added joy of getting back an essay. Which I flopped. So that was disappointing. But I kind of knew it was going to happen. When I was writing it, I realized that I didn't know what I was talking about. But still, I was kind of hoping that I was wrong about it, and that my TA would see some brilliance in it that I hid from myself. No such luck. Um, anyway, my sister is coming to visit this weekend. Looking forward to that. Hoping to be able to spend a nice, quiet, non-stressful weekend with her. Hoping I can figure out a comfortable sleeping arrangement, too. Eh, not so sure about that. When I get sad, I get tired. I'm very, very tired right now. I think I may just sleep for a few dozen hours to get rid of this funk I'm in. Oh, if only it would thaw outside. And if only proper grammar were taught in schools. Oh, wait, it still is. Huh:
Quiz via beatles.pitas.com
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