It's 7pm, I'm typing my paper. My mind is not itself.
So I take a break, and decide to hit the "Next Blog" button at the top of the page a few times, just to see what will happen. Maybe I'll find someone who I can add to the blogroll. Maybe I'll find someone intelligent. Maybe ...
But no. I find a bunch of angst-ridden teenagers writing bad poetry about the boy who broke up with them to date their best friend's neighbor's sister's cousin, and how could he DO that, and other such nonsense. So I decided to try it out myself. I'm going to write som blog poetry now -- pure stream of conscousness stuff. Maybe I can finally be a cool teenager -- Lord knows I wasn't 20 years ago, when I was IN high school.
I see my two feet
sneakerclad, tapping my toes.
Going nowhere, fast...
The computer glares
The cursor flashes insults
My prose, it is bad.
Melanchthon is dull
So much has been written
All is in German.
People pass by me
They stop, staring at foolishness.
Bad poems on my screen.
Wow. I feel cool again. That was just so cathartic. I think the haiku is an underrated form of verse, don't you? So structured -- it's a challenge to get your thoughts to fit the meter. People don't write that way anymore.
Ok. Break's over. Back to Melanchthon, and you all can go do something much more constructive.