During the regular school semester, I procrastinate. I do. I can't help it! I just have way more fun things to be doing than writing literary analysis, sorry. However, during the summer, my list of fun things grows exponentially! I'm taking three summer classes this year (one at a time), and I've just begun the second one. What I've learned so far is that it is physically impossible for me to do any summer class homework until the day it is due. This is really not good because: a) it's an online class with seriously stupid morning deadlines b) they are art history classes so I'm writing about stuff I don't really know c) the assignments have retarded word minimums so I find myself using passive voice and terrible word choice just to hit the limits d) all of the above. While I like all the pretty pictures, I hate writing about them! I don't know enough about art to do more than go, "This is pretty because I like the colors," and I KNOW that's not what she's looking for. With an English paper, I can make up stuff until the cows come home and be relatively accurate because I know what I'm doing. With these papers, I'm still making stuff up. The only difference is, I don't actually have a clue about what I'm doing. It sucks and I hate it.
In other news, I'm supposed to be doing yard work today. It is raining. Somehow I don't think the yard work is going to get done. I saw a little bird with a worm outside and it looked super cold so I don't think I want to go out there. Who wants to be super cold like a little bird? Not me! Today is my only day off that isn't already filled up with stuff to do, though. This detail makes my life a little difficult. Maybe I'll call Granddad and see what he wants to do. He has the truck for all the dirt we need to haul in, so hopefully he will be like, "screw it." Then I can not do my yard work and not feel guilty at the same time!
So I know this has kinda been pointless and ranty and poorly written. Deal with it. I am. I've been up since five and have already written a five page paper this morning. All my good writing has been used up on a pointless comparison of two medieval bestiaries.
