Desire is tingling at the back of my throat.
It's sort of like that serene, gentle pain that lingers in your voice
When you finish screaming.

It's like a ripping. In lots of different directions.

One more attempted blog post tonight. One more failed jumble of awkward sentences.
It's not really writer's block, I just don't feel the same desire anymore. Just need someone new to write for I guess.
And until they come?
Hmmm.

It's an interesting feeling, being able to look the manifestation of my sin straight in the eye. I wonder sometimes if I'd do it the same way twice, ignoring, of course, all the times where I did do it the same way twice. Or three times. Or thirteen. Like all things, it's just a matter of time before I get used to it.

An excerpt from a grading sheet for a paper:

"Dear Andy,

Even though you may have been feeling under the weather and therefore not up to the standard of your usual sparkling wit and articulation, your analysis of the sonnet is quite good, and I especially appreciate your relating the many formal disjunctions in the poem to Wordsworth's distraught state of mind..."

Having my sickly, neglected ego inflated by a professor never, ever fails to brighten my day.

I get really strong impulses sometimes.
My most recent was to just jump in the car with my friend Connor and drive to Alaska.
To no particular place in Alaska, Anchorage maybe (for the name recognition), but I just want to see some cool stuff.
People call these "the best years of your life." These years have been absolutely incredible, but I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure they aren't the best.

"If I could have my wasted days back
Would I use them to get back on track?
Stop to warm at karma's burning,
or look ahead but keep on turning?"

Frantic-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tock.

First Paper of the Semester

I do not recommend beer, Facebook, or Youtube as study aides, and especially not all at once.