There’s a recurring theme in my life which is, in short, I need to lighten the fuck up, already.
This theme manifests itself in a few ways, depending on what’s going on in my life at the time. Since I’ve been back in school, the trend has manifested in a never-ending obsession with my grades. Today I got back a paper I wrote on The Last of the Mohicans, a paper which I was certain would best be used as toilet paper. (I’m still convinced that is its best use.)
I got a 95. My professor didn’t have any comments except that it was “solid work,” so I have to assume that she docked the five points from my paper on account of her misery at having to read it at all. I can accept that; I was willing to dock myself the other 95 just so I wouldn’t have to write it.
Maybe I should have written it drunk as I’d considered doing last week; it might have given me the extra five points for
having the balls creativity.