Dec. 6th, 2003

deliriumcrow: (Default)
I love this song. Lovelovelovelove it. Mostly because I'm so terribly fond of Poe, having been reading him since the second grade, when my mother read us The Tell-Tale Heart, after watching the VIncent Price version of the Fall of the House of Usher.

I'm sort of almost done with one of my papers. I think. I still think it's horrible, and I'm disinclined to agree with Remy's opinion otherwise. I knoe there were things that could have been suggested, and he didn't. So I dont' know. I think it's horrible. And I should be either writing a different paper, or sleeping for all the sickness I"ve acquired. But I'm not. I'm torn between staring impotently at the screen and my paper, and playing some sort of stupid game. I have enough NES simulations to amuse me for hours, but I should really be in bed now. My lungs are inside out, somewhere in the general location of my esophagus and torn to little bloody shreds. Or so it feels. I hate winter. I hate the annual cough and the dryness.

It's interesting to have a room over a porch, as the snow climbs up our windows. It's still snowing, and it's getting deeper white, but you can' still that we live next to an oil dmp, a sewage treatment plant, and a junkyard. Because it isn't hidden by the dense leaves anymore, even where the few trees still stand. It'll take a Siberian amount of snow to make this place look good, I think....

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