SORRY. SO SORRY. I let things get away from me. Actually, that feels inaccurate. I just laughed out loud when I typed that, because my phrasing makes it sound like, well, yeah, things got away from me, but it’s under control now. It’s not, though. I’m drowning in essays. I’ve decided that if I finish this essay today, I’m going to let myself watch Tangled and eat mini M&Ms. I work with a pretty strict reward system.
I promised a follow-up to that whole Nerf gun war my brother was in, so here it is. I went home that weekend, so I got the whole story as events transpired. Shit starting getting real one night when there was a shootout in our front yard. With time running out and people getting killed left and right, Alex and his remaining teammates cornered the girls’ team in the Buffalo Wild Wings parking lot. They were literally using their cars to block the girls in. Finally they escaped, and Alex’s team followed them to the high school parking lot, which is, as you’ll remember, neutral territory, so the girls decided to camp out. In the parking lot. All night. (Did I mention what serious business this whole thing was?) Sadly, their determination won out, and Alex’s team was eliminated from the competition. Personally I feel that if you’re willing to spend the night in the high school parking lot with nothing but your car and five Nerf guns, you deserve the win. But I digress.
This transition from spring break to actual learning again is not going well. But I just shat out an essay that I have been putting off for at least two weeks. It is the brainchild of last-minute desperation and lots of sugar. Now I am going to catch up on Vikings.
Sorry this isn’t much of a post. I took an exam today too. All brainpower gone. I’m not even sure how well it went, because I was on the last few questions when the professor said, “TWO MINUTES LEFT!” and I almost ate my pencil out of alarm.
Do you ever hit that point in writing an essay where you’re ALMOST DONE… you’re in the homestretch, you can see the finish line… and you just can’t crank out any more coherent sentences?
I’m writing this essay on women in the Middle Ages, and I’ve got one more body paragraph to go as well as the conclusion. The paragraph, however, is an undignified mess of sloppy ideas that a five-year-old could have written with better clarity, and the conclusion doesn’t even exist. The conclusion is just a space at the end where I wrote [CONCLUSION] and trusted my future self to come up with something brilliant.
But it’s 11:20 pm, and I’ve clocked out for the night. Basically, around 6 I decided to start just dicking around until I could reasonably say, “Ah, well, it’s too late now; I can’t possibly write anything good at this hour.” This essentially means I was dicking around for about five hours while writing the occasional sentence that I immediately backspaced. This essay is due tomorrow at midnight, so I have time, but I also have a persistent knack for making things harder than they need to be. So, things are going to start getting really, really interesting around 11.
My room looks like a paper factory exploded. I’m trying to write an essay and materials are EVERYWHERE. I don’t know what my plan is. I’m going to have to go to bed eventually, but my bed is covered in notebook paper and pencils and books. I’m also going to need to find the remote, because Criminal Minds is starting soon, but I haven’t seen that in a while. It might be under the expansive pile of crap covering 90% of my room, but who knows?
I promise I’ll have better stories once I stop being cloistered alone in my room with no one to talk to except my essay prompt.
I am one major test and two essays away from Thanksgiving break. Then it’s smooth sailing to THE CHRISTMAS MUSIC THAT HAS FOR SO LONG ELUDED ME!
I feel like I could write a book about the combined shenanigans of my hall mates. There was the microwave incident, for one thing. But there’s more. A group of them gets together every night, and they actually coordinate four-part harmonies in the showers. Yeah. I do not kid. They huddle outside the communal bathroom and say, “Is everybody here? All right, let’s do it!” and they each snag separate showers and start singing. And I’ll be brushing my teeth while they all sing “Danny Boy.” Do they sound good? No, they do not sound good. This might be because the acoustics are terrible. I don’t want to judge on their actual singing voices, because songs are regularly interrupted by flushing toilets.
As we round the corner into the second semester, I’m trying to pick classes, and French is literally chipping away at my soul. Hey, want to take a class about the trials and tribulations of Harry Potter? No, I’m sorry, you’ve got French at that time. Care to take an actual, literal class about video games and why they’re so much fun to play? Too bad, you have French. Don’t bother trying to take anything that caters to your specific interests. Why? Because FRENCH. Gah!
BUT STILL. Fourteen days until December! Two weeks! TWO WEEKS! A fortnight, if you will! A freaking fortnight!
Here’s a recipe for a perfectly adequate disaster of an essay:
1. A really awkward introduction with no legitimate thesis.
2. A body paragraph that uses lots of fancy words but actually presents no worthwhile information.
3. Same as the one before, but with less fancy words and more semi-colons (in an effort to compensate for the lack of fancy words).
4. A body paragraph that might as well start off with the sentence “Allow me to baffle you with the following bullshit…”
5. A body paragraph that simply says, “This is body paragraph number four. Now would be a really good time to write words.”
6. A conclusion that accomplishes nothing.
I don’t know about you guys, but I smell an A+.