Blah Blah Blah

Two more weeks until spring break. That's the happy thought I've chosen to start my post with. Yes, this promises to be a ramble, all right. I don't want to look too far ahead, because these next two weeks are bound to be mega stressful. No worries though; I'm a superwoman when I want to be, and my enemies (i.e. readings and Emma Morgan's case) do not stand a chance. I shoot them before they shoot me. And I'm tired of the shooting lingo, so I'll stop.

I feel like I should write an intellectual piece about Gloria and Proclamation 1017. Oh, I have thoughts on those, all right, but I think there'll be a proper time to write that up. Diana Ross is singing "you can't hurry love" to me, and I'm thinking that you can't hurry essays either. They will come when they will. Me and my excuses, yeah? At least I get creative with them. People with boring excuses don't deserve to be excused.

Something creepy happened to me a while ago. I'd just gotten back from dinner with a friend and was settling down to work in a carrel in the basement stacks (i.e. part of the law school library with no windows). I started thinking about something profound and then I started thinking some more, and before I knew it, I was feeling really trapped and claustrophobic and creeped out, and I knew I just had to get out of there, so I did. Thankfully, my friend was heading out too, so we rushed out the law school together. We got home in record time too; according to her, I was walking extra-fast. Creepy, yeah? And I'm not referring to the walking fast part. I'm not going back to that place again. Well, knowing me, I probably will go back just to prove I can. And then I can leave the place for good. Or maybe I'll change my mind. Aquinas says that I can, and he seems like authority enough. I'd cite him in Bluebook form, but I'm not that demented. Yet.

Santa Banana and Holy Cow, my sense of humor is morphing into something strange. Thank God I still find me funny. Then again, I'm always really nice when it comes to me. And I do crack up at the most ridiculous things. I'm sleepy. May it please the court to sleep. It probably doesn't, but what the hey. This is it. The bed deserves my attention now.

Back to One

Let's try this new lay-out, shall we? I was getting sick of the old one, and so it's dead, gone forever, never to be seen in Blogland again. Good riddance, you lay-out, you. I don't miss you at all, and I'm happy that I've killed you. So long, farewell, I need to say good-bye.

I am The Gunner. Chameleons are gross-looking creatures that might substantially affect interstate commerce just like the three-inch fly or the toad named Roberts. And Sofia is apparently the capital of Bulgaria, where I think Viktor Krum is from. The name doesn't fit me at all, so I'm ridding myself of it. Die, name, die.

I am insane. Aren't you glad you're nowhere near me tonight? Enough is enough is enough, I can't go on, I can't go on now. Sleeping time. By the way, I'm fine. Really.