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Gah.
So somehow this has become the worst day ever, and it's just the first day of the worst week ever. Stupid Spanish tests, and asthma, and workshops, and bad food, and the overwhelming tiredness, and the blurry vision, and the ever-present sniffles, and the last minute notices, and the upcoming Women's Lit test, and the upcoming Nonfiction paper, and the weather, and laundry, and the ants, and expectations, and.... and... gah.
For anyone who knows anything about poetry: Why is having abstract ideas in a poem a bad thing? No one can explain this to me satisfactorily.
And now I've got to go into my corner and wibble a bit.
So somehow this has become the worst day ever, and it's just the first day of the worst week ever. Stupid Spanish tests, and asthma, and workshops, and bad food, and the overwhelming tiredness, and the blurry vision, and the ever-present sniffles, and the last minute notices, and the upcoming Women's Lit test, and the upcoming Nonfiction paper, and the weather, and laundry, and the ants, and expectations, and.... and... gah.
For anyone who knows anything about poetry: Why is having abstract ideas in a poem a bad thing? No one can explain this to me satisfactorily.
And now I've got to go into my corner and wibble a bit.
