I feel like I've been a Weapon of Mass Disappointment over the last twenty-four hours and am sulking.

I was going to look up a bunch of poems (hang Byron!) and analyse them to death for the morning, but I arrived late at the lab although just in time to wave to one of my friends as the door closed on her for an eternal hour-long class. Hang the class, boil the lab, I wanted to talk to my friend!!

And my day began on duck feet anyway so I shouldn't be surprised, but I'm still frustrated. I woke up late, missed my morning of studying (I get my best work done in the morning), and then my dear sweet mother made me breakfast! I was humbled, and chewed carefully on one side in the back of my mouth since the new implants that the borg-orthodontist put in are becoming painful. Mommy also let me use her Special Thermos and gave me a hug and said it was good to be home. Yes, I used the word "mommy".

So I had a cup of vanilla-almond tea (a Christmas present from my parents) and read bits and pieces from "The Dark Tower" outside of the library. Feeling a little bit better but still in an entirely self-pitying mood, I entered the library. And here I am.

Now I realise I'm just tired.

I sat for a moment in silence after typing that last sentence and a person in a plastic jacket, plastic pants, and carrying two grocery bags has walked by at least three times. What an interesting, most infuriating sound. And then I totally cracked up because I was annoyed at the personified White Noise . . . Once I get a minute to step back and look at myself, I am infinitely amused.

Dude, I'd better start work. I'm getting Byron out of the way first, and maybe by the time I'm done searching through the vomit of previous critics my friend will be out of class and we can go have coffee. Or something.