I am in MA class now. It is singularly uninspiring. I am often bored out of my wits trying to escape the lethal effects of extreme air-conditioning. How does one condition oneself to air-conditioning? Why must I pose this question like this? I want to sound grander and sadder but alas! Alas, poor Yorick! Today we just cannot inspire, concentrate and... and... blimey! What were we talking about again?
OK, this is the general predicament that I lately find myself, La Grande Panda (how delightfully obscene that sounds, to be sure), in. In a way it is horrifying. I cannot concentrate on a thing. I feel vague and there's this general feeling that everything is over, and yet I know nothing. Whereas one shouldn't feel this when something new is beginning. Or should they?
Ahona Panda looks like Ahona Panther-a in her new passport-sized photos. (This joke has been cracked by Lord Panda, otherwise also known as Daddy Panda/Baba Panda. He is not a spiritual guru, nor is he a rapper. He is simply and stupidly my father.) I hate my hair. I hate it. It makes me look like a panther (when angry) or a spaniel (when rheumy and mild).
Isn't angst productive? *glee*
I am hungry. I want chocolate. I love poetry. Also, I may or may not adore you. Now bubbye, dear reader. I hope this greatly improves the moral tone of your filthy mind. I am a misanthrope. I want to hate you, you and you. But I can't.
I am a swit one, fer shore. With a swit tooth and swit readers.
P.S.- Classroom is full of unknown, unfamilar, gloating? faces. Grrrhhh.