Fire, and Ice, and Rage...

I kind of really hate the whole concept of essays. (Which may be why it is 2am, and I'm not even a quarter done one that's due at 1 this afternoon) But really, what's the point? Why do I have to ramble on for over a thousand words to try and make a point that I could make in a paragraph? What does that accomplish? All this does is teach students how to bullshit their way through everything and it just stresses everyone out! And it's probably of as much real-world importance as learning how to factor quadratic equations or something (aka none).

I'm just procrastinating now. Which is ridiculous and stupid, but there's not much I can do to stop that. It's taking all my will not to switch over and start rambling in my NaNo, but that's mostly because I'm putting this essay in my NaNo (I've decided I might as well start cheating right off the bat this year, rather than waiting for the inevitable panic later).

ETA: Also, my sense of 'organisation' makes it damn near impossible to get out of my bed, and even more daunting to get back to where I need to be to work. I think I need a desk. A really really big desk...

First off, apologies for sucking at the internet. Life sucks. But it's summer now (technically. For me anyway. Who really cares if it snowed during my summer break. Summer's still summer, right?), so I shall do my best to post more and comment and be ~involved~ and social and whatnot. So someone punch me if I slack off.

My sister had writing camp this week, and today she mentioned how one of the authors there was saying how everyone has a story, or something to say, and that it was a great message and total truefax. But then, the next author came up and was all "Yeah, I disagree with her. You don't need a story to tell. I once wrote a poem, I don't know what it means now, and I didn't know what it meant then." I chose to play Guess-the-annoying-idiotic-author game. "R.P. MacIntyre?" (And yes, I had to google how to spell that.) We went on to have a nice rant about what an egotistical douche he is. He talked at our school when I was in grade 12, and was also at writing camp that year. I hate him with a passion. He doesn't seem to write because he wants to, or even because he likes to, but just because he somehow gets a paycheck. And that just rubs me the wrong way. And he's just creepy.

Oh, and hello to new friends!!