Agonies of a Young Author

Finals time at my campus has a very peculiar cultural atmosphere. Somehow, once classes are over, all normal routine drains into the campus pond, and is eaten by either the troll under the bridge, or the gurgling whirlpool in the middle that I am convinced is Nessie blowing bubbles.

In any case, finals are like extended weekends, but without the pressure of trying-to-cram-in-as-much-fun-as-possible-in-two-piddly-days, but with the pressure of trying-to-cram-for-too-many-exams-and-I-really-should-be-studying-for-and-hey!-is-that- a-new-xkcd-comic?

Finals has the delightful prospect of being lawless yet with extreme deadlines.

So things like Wordle word clouds happen when avoiding a paper. Or magnetic poetry, same night, avoiding same paper.

For example, my lovely example of magnetic genius:


or that of TheatreProphet's (fellow co-conspirator in quiet hours wasting)


(and she even went one step further and alphabetized all the words, while I fought with Wordle. She also figured out how to get Wordle into a .jpg-- since I am sometimes blindingly helpless at technology-- so a big thanks to her!)


Yes, this is what we do at 11 pm at night in the library when no one else is around. *grins* In case you were wondering.

So now I am convinced that the only thing to do is create magnetic word poetry every night of finals! *bwahahahahahahaha*

I might even have to buy a set for my new apartment, and do a poem a day magnetic poetry! hahahaha

But we'll see, we'll see. I still have several finals to survive first.

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: Nothing. Roomie the Long Suffering One is studying. Shhhhhhh!
What I want most: no more finals?