A ladder fell on my head yesterday morning as I slept fetus-like and tranquil in my bed. There was a huge thump, I yelled FUCKING HELL! and opened my eyes to see Brooke's white feet dangling before me in the air where the ladder should be. My head was throbbing for the rest of the day, and when I bent down all the blood rushed to it and it felt extremely nasty. I half want to sue.
At least it woke me up though - I have 9 'o clock classes every morning. Haven't gone to the Pink Floyd class yet (tomorrow!) but so far the prognosis is: Italian - easy but too much homework, Film - interesting, and a very skilled and adorable professor (little moustachioed man with an equally adorable name, Kuntz), and English - guhh. Terrifying. Why weren't we taught about metre and spondee and scansion and all that crap in JC? And Blake and Milton and Keats?
No comments:
Post a Comment