so i guess i'm in one of those freaking-the-fuck-out-for-no-reason moods tonight. i almost fell asleep on the couch watching warehouse 13. then artie blew up. maybe he still had the phoenix...
anyway. my poetry prof liked my poems. like, wrote "i wanted more" at the end of one of them. and my creative writing prof things i have "a very good beginning" to my short story. i got excited when i got the papers back. i just read them. i think they're crap.
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