Wow, I am so fucking tired right now. It’s 9:44 p.m. and I’ll take a rough guess. I have 221 pages of reading to do before tomorrow.
Fuck that.
The funny thing is that I’m still liable to read the newspaper. I’ve been digging Marc Santora and Damien Cave’s work on Iraq in the New York Times lately, in the sense that I prefer their eidetic reporting to the whirlwind of bullshit about George Bush, Carl Levin, Hilary Clinton, John Boehner and everyone else who treats the war like a bid for political power, not a race to save lives.
Fuck them.
I’ve been a little bitter lately. Perhaps it is because, when I get home from school, usually in the evening, it is physically impossible to complete all of my homework. To say nothing of the fact that, tonight, it’s the peculiar mix of Lord Byron and Lillian Ross’ "Picture." Great stuff. Really. If only I had time to read it all.
My problems aren’t that bad. The whole world, after all, is dying around me.
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