I love it when Stephen Colbert does his show with ashes on his forehead. He didn’t this year, and it’s a little bit sad. I think it’s adorable.
Ignore the fact that he’s married. And twenty-four years older than me. And lives in New York. And has politics that I find morally reprehensible. And I don’t know him.
Shut up. I’ve had a very long day of studying failed Irish revolutions (Oh, so many. Too many to count.) and writing a paper for Cuba that is, I am not even going to front, five pages of COMPLETE AND UTTER CRAP.
Not bad writing, per se, but yes, I am going to spit this analytical essay out in two hours I don’t care you gave me next to no guidance and I have more important things to do. Like, TLC’s afternoon lineup.
All I can say is that everything I learned last semester in Northern Ireland had better still be in my head tucked away safely underneath “Depressing Irish Failures: Remove When You Are Too Tired To Focus”. Because that is the only way I’m getting through this.