A castle sat upon a hill, a fortress once great and strong.
It ruled over a mighty kingdom that once had known no wrong.
But time passed by and with each sigh another stone was dust.
Nothing could save what Despair did crave as true love turned into lust.
With each new defeat, they would repeat that “next time” they would win;
But after each failed try, they could only cry and fail to win again.
The deluge of tears over the years had worn the great walls down.
And from each drip spirits did dip and slowly all did drown.
Not one great blow from some mighty foe had brought down the castle grand;
Just hit by hit and bit by bit marched the armies made of sand.
The King had tried while his nation died to solve its’ atrophic descent,
But with each new plan he grew more wan; came no answers Heaven sent.
He could only mourn what the Gods did scorn and slowly lose grasp on Hope,
For his kingdom was done, despair had won, no more could the King cope.
“My people dear, I sadly fear our kingdom is no more.
Lament its’ end, every good friend, our defeat I do deplore.
But I am old, my future cold, so tis not for me I weep.
It is for you, you wretched few, for the promises I could not keep.
It is not right to have to fight each day of misery.
There should be joy for each girl and boy, but despair is all I see.
I have failed you again, my enduring sin, more times than I can count.
And now all that remains are sorrows and pains that I no more can mount.”
And with this last cry the King did die and his people let out a wail.
At least he had led, this King now dead, though he could only fail.
“What could have been done,” wondered each one, “to have changed our fate?
Some mistake made, prayers not prayed, a solution not too late?”
But each person knew, and now did rue, that Hope was the one to blame.
They’d believed every lie and could now only sigh at how they’d lost this game.
Each bet they’d cast had been too fast, but they could not stop to change.
And now the goal that the Truth stole was far beyond their range.
The sun rose again in this glum land and the people hoped once more,
But they could not see it for the bomb that grated their very core.
Saturday, April 17
Monday, April 12
To Lab or Not to Lab...
Once again I'm confronted with a momental decision. Dare I start my homework early and finish it ahead of schedule? Dare I study for my massive AP tests that loom behind the not-so-distant horizon, just waiting to drown me in self-hate and despair? Dare I disturb the universe? Well, knowing 1/3 isn't bad... I know! I'll write another silly poem instead! I can stop anytime I want to! Really, I can! I..uh..will...um... stop when I'm 18. Really! I mean it!
The Race
I jog upon the tracks so long, watching the runners speed.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
I don’t recall why I began, I don’t know where they lead.
I see the muddy footprints of rain and sweat and tears,
And know that I am just one man among a thousand years.
I just keep running, up the hill, and then I stub my toe,
But when I think about it, it’s much, much worse I know.
I’ve now broken my ankle, no, wait, now it’s my knee,
And ,the more I think about it, the broken thing is me!
The runners go on without a glance, and I envy every one!
Their speed, their brains, and their advantage in this race we’ve run.
I try to see the finish, an infinity ahead,
But there’s no way I’ll reach it, I’ll just mope here instead.
I don’t need to win this race, I don’t even need to try
Because it’s obvious that if I do, I’ll keep running til I die.
I’ll lament right here and nurse my wounds, I’ll make them bleed still more;
It can’t be worse than running, for running I deplore.
But I see a pretty flower and on it’s written “Now”,
And I stand up and walk again, it not longer matters how.
I enjoy the stroll, it’s nice out here, the air, the birds, the sea,
The only way it could improve is if someone ran with me.
Sunday, April 11
It.
I. Discovery
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
When I was young I sallied forth into the Great Unknown.
I looked for wonders, truths, and thoughts that I had not been shown.
I came upon a pyramid, a tomb of some great king,
And then I thought I’d venture in, just to see the thing.
I wandered down the flights of stairs, deep and deeper still
I would not turn back despite the risk, and I kept on until
I found a crypt encased in stone, and I could not stop my mind
Thus I moved the heavy slab and within It I did find.
As my terror rose and rose, I glanced above my head.
There I saw a warning, and this is what I read:
“A fool, a Fool, that’s who you are, to open this tomb and come this far
You can’t go back, the seal’s not whole, It shall latch on, invade your soul
You can’t escape, you cannot flee, It’s a part of you for eternity
Now thou art Doomed to live no more, for It’s got you to your very core.”
I realized my error, but not in time.
I’d gone too far and done the crime.
I did not shout, I did not wail.
I did not cry, I only fail.
I turned and ran, but It was too fast.
It haunted my future, It cursed my past.
And for all my years It came with me
For It was my eternity.
II. Pursual
Where could she be? She’s always late.
She should be here! Perhaps It’s Fate?
Oh here she comes! Oh, now she’s here.
I’d wished for more! No more, I fear.
I can’t have more! That can not exist.
Why should I try? I shan’t persist.
And then It struck, and I was hit, I’d forgotten all I’d learned,
And how I screamed, within my mind, and how my heart was burned!
I should not have stopped! I should not have quit! But the damage had been done.
And thus It hit me, once again, and again I began to run.
It followed me still, as I ran, I could not escape Its' wretched plan.
Thus I jumped into the Sea, hoping that Death could protect me.
But It was there in that kingdom deep, my soul It sought so It could reap
And though I swam and fought and tried, even still It never died.
On and on It came until, I realized why It haunted still.
III. Defeat
The tired old man rocked his rocking chair, as he always did.
The child walked up and asked the man, for the boy was just a kid,
“Oh wise old man, what have you seen, in this great world of ours?
Have you touched the sun, rode comets far, and lived among the stars?”
But the old man merely nodded, to this child so young,
And in his tender, tormented voice a dirge is what he sung:
Oh dear child, my lovely boy, how naïve you are.
You just can’t see the terror of that oh so distant star.
You have not see the Sun up close and been blinded by Its' light.
You haven’t tried to fight the sky and been beaten every night.
You’ve got what all these people seek, you just don’t know It’s true.
But you’ll lose the gift, as do we all; that day you’ll often rue.
You wish advice? I have a bit, though It’s difficult to hear
It’s just a temporary patch on a black hole, I fear.
Escape, sweet child, escape escape, escape into your world.
Not mine, not hers, not Its’, but yours, that’s where your joy is curled.
Escape somehow, beautiful child, escape into the sea.
Escape escape escape escape, but don’t stay here with me.
I’m old and tired, cemented here, I can run no more.
It’s coming for me, and now, at last, I can finally lose this war.
I must remain to accept the truth, no matter what the pain,
But there’s still a chance for you, dear boy, so escape from the sane!
Escape into joy, Escape to the sky,
Escape into others, Escape til you die.
Escape forever and a day, escape until the Angels say
That you’ve escaped your life away and no more must you escape, I pray.
Escape to Heaven, Hope, and Lies and laugh until this old man dies.
Escape from all the ‘who’s’ and ‘why’s” escape from all our anguished cries.
‘Escape’ my last advice to you, escape from It, and from me too…
I want It, I need It, I must have It forever.
I shun It, I forsake It, I think I’m oh so clever.
I lament It, I mourn It, yet It cuts me through and through.
Where is It, Why is It, What is It to you?
Saturday, April 10
Public Library #1
So today I got the bright idea that I needed to head to the main, downtown public library. Various reasons were factors in this decision. One, the library will be closed tomorrow as it is Easter. Two, I finished off my father's stack of CDs (most of which were entirely too funkadelic, boring, or downright icky to tolerate; though I found Roy, so it worked out) and also my Ralph Vaughn Williams/other classical music from my last trip and needed to replenish my supply. Thus I saddled up my Golden Chariot (who still needs a good, permanent name by the way) and rushed Downtown.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.
The Lawson McGhee Library towered over the tiny city of Knoxville like a forbidding tower of knowledge guarded by hobos and no-account librarians who are too lazy to get real jobs. I had one main goal, the fabled "Flower Duet" by Stravinsky. I had heard it existed within the hallowed grounds of the forsaken instituion, but my sources weren't the most reliable. To avoid notice by the sentries, I parked my chariot in a nearby native complex, the likes of which were found throughout the city. It was said that my abode was protected, and that I could rest there for free, as long as I supplied proof of my entry into the "Temble McGhee."
Thus I sallied forth into the dark chambers of the complex. The glaring eyes of the librarians at the front desk made me stop and pause for a few moments. I briefly considered turning tail and fleeing, but I had a goal. Plus I needed my parking validated. So I asked these surly characters where to return the books on tape and cds I had from my past ventures into the Temple. Their cool gazes seared through my soul and sought to expose me for the trespasser I was. But one turned her head and shrieked, "IT'S UPSTAIRS! BEWARES, BEWARES, OF THE THINGS UPSTAIRS!" Needless to say, I hurriedly parted company with these excessively noisy individuals and climbed the arduous climb. The crumbling steps were one way, and at many I was sure I would be trampled by hurrying acolytes rushing down them to do their masters' bidding. But luck was on my side. I deposited.
Friday, April 9
To Forget One's...uhhh...Elf?
Yesterday. Yesterday was quite an unpleasant day. One of the most unpleasant days I've had in some time. Most of it stems from lack of sleep (I stayed up til 1, woke up around 6:30 or so), and since I don't eat, that's not much energy to work off of. That, plus the deficiency throughout the week, leads to a cranky, jerk-ish Dylan. Now, I know, I'm ornery most of the time. But when I just lay on verbal abuse, even when it's mostly feigned, it makes me severely chastise myself in retrospect. Ah well.
But lack of sleep wasn't the only problem. You see, I got so tired or depressed or apathetic or something that I developed a case of "selective acknowledgement." I would only acknowledge certain aspects of reality. So, when I went to take my Spanish quiz, I conveniently ignored the advice to remember certain tidbits of knowledge vital to my success. But my Spanish grade won't suffer over one subpar quiz. What will suffer is my abysmal performance yesterday in Chemistry. On the optomistic side, my grade in the class will drop from a 96 to a 92. It was very bad. I actually put "magic" for one of my answers, in frustration. The worst part was that it could have been somewhat averted. I just simply subconsciously ignored Mrs. Sayers saying we only had 25 or so minutes to do the test. So I started and thought "This isn't too bad." Then she said "5 minutes left" and I had finished 6. That bad. I also chose to ignore the advice of what to study for our equilibrium quiz and jumped right in. And by in, I mean down down down.
If I applied this affliction to other areas of my life, I might decide that fire did not harm me and promptly procede to completely encase myself in fire because it was a tad chilly. Or I would convenietly forget that other cars are made of solids and not gases, promptly plowing into an 18wheeler because I saw a shiny quarter lieing on the side of the interstate. That sort of train wreck. Things like that would not happen in Math. Surely not... Although Statistics has me questioning even that.
But that leads to an important topic, forgetfulness. I consider myself pretty absent minded. The only way I remember things is if they're sources of stress which really doesn't lead to a healthy mental state. But you already knew that. I suppose the topic I'm thinking of is more than forgetfulness, though. It's becoming so involved in something that everything else gets warped out of perspective and loses meaning. For instance, those quizzes and tests. In the long run, they don't matter (that's a dangerous road in and of itself). But at the moment, they took a hold of me and weighed me down. It's the same with all my pyschological buffers. I put them up so I can somehow achieve some super-human command over base emotions like rage and envy, but I gradually forget them and fall victim in the aftermath. Envy, especially, has been a problem. I try not to compare myself to other people, because school should not be about competition and should only be a personal test with personal goals. And yet, any success of others I merely reflect as a failure of myself. I suppose it's not really envy, just disappointment and further compounding my inferiority complex. I dunno, I confuse myself...
Anyway, back to things that might pertain to you. Seeing as how some people have taken to not shouldering their Anarchy Blog posting responsibilities, I've finally created my free fall blog. I know the reasons some of us have for not postig on Anarchy, and I understand, but when you want to do some creative character writing now, you need to be able to do it! Thus, I introduce to you, www.evilandgood.blogspot.com . It's got a more modern theme, the details of which are in the invite and first entry. I'm not very good at being truely evil and dark(not very good at anything, really, but being evil even less so), but I'll give it a shot. ANYONE interested should IM or email me and I'll invite you, no strings attached. Post once, post a thousand times. Have fun. That's all I ask. So please let me know. That's all, until next time...
But lack of sleep wasn't the only problem. You see, I got so tired or depressed or apathetic or something that I developed a case of "selective acknowledgement." I would only acknowledge certain aspects of reality. So, when I went to take my Spanish quiz, I conveniently ignored the advice to remember certain tidbits of knowledge vital to my success. But my Spanish grade won't suffer over one subpar quiz. What will suffer is my abysmal performance yesterday in Chemistry. On the optomistic side, my grade in the class will drop from a 96 to a 92. It was very bad. I actually put "magic" for one of my answers, in frustration. The worst part was that it could have been somewhat averted. I just simply subconsciously ignored Mrs. Sayers saying we only had 25 or so minutes to do the test. So I started and thought "This isn't too bad." Then she said "5 minutes left" and I had finished 6. That bad. I also chose to ignore the advice of what to study for our equilibrium quiz and jumped right in. And by in, I mean down down down.
If I applied this affliction to other areas of my life, I might decide that fire did not harm me and promptly procede to completely encase myself in fire because it was a tad chilly. Or I would convenietly forget that other cars are made of solids and not gases, promptly plowing into an 18wheeler because I saw a shiny quarter lieing on the side of the interstate. That sort of train wreck. Things like that would not happen in Math. Surely not... Although Statistics has me questioning even that.
But that leads to an important topic, forgetfulness. I consider myself pretty absent minded. The only way I remember things is if they're sources of stress which really doesn't lead to a healthy mental state. But you already knew that. I suppose the topic I'm thinking of is more than forgetfulness, though. It's becoming so involved in something that everything else gets warped out of perspective and loses meaning. For instance, those quizzes and tests. In the long run, they don't matter (that's a dangerous road in and of itself). But at the moment, they took a hold of me and weighed me down. It's the same with all my pyschological buffers. I put them up so I can somehow achieve some super-human command over base emotions like rage and envy, but I gradually forget them and fall victim in the aftermath. Envy, especially, has been a problem. I try not to compare myself to other people, because school should not be about competition and should only be a personal test with personal goals. And yet, any success of others I merely reflect as a failure of myself. I suppose it's not really envy, just disappointment and further compounding my inferiority complex. I dunno, I confuse myself...
Anyway, back to things that might pertain to you. Seeing as how some people have taken to not shouldering their Anarchy Blog posting responsibilities, I've finally created my free fall blog. I know the reasons some of us have for not postig on Anarchy, and I understand, but when you want to do some creative character writing now, you need to be able to do it! Thus, I introduce to you, www.evilandgood.blogspot.com . It's got a more modern theme, the details of which are in the invite and first entry. I'm not very good at being truely evil and dark(not very good at anything, really, but being evil even less so), but I'll give it a shot. ANYONE interested should IM or email me and I'll invite you, no strings attached. Post once, post a thousand times. Have fun. That's all I ask. So please let me know. That's all, until next time...
Monday, April 5
Marching to the Beat of an Off-Time Drummer
That's what all you people will be doing next year when I make the snare! MUWAHAHAHAHA
But seriously, I'm aiming for cymbals. Now, although it is often equated with "lowliest of the percussion," I need only remind you that the triangle is a percussion instrument. And believe you me, if "triangle" was a viable marching percussion instrument I'd sign up faster than you can say "Individual reports seem to indicate that only 3.1151361% of head lice agree with the latest Gallup Poll about whether head lice read the New York Post." Or perhaps faster than you can really think of the deep implications of such a statement. It's hypothetical, back off ya bum!
So I've got two tests and lots of Chemistry due tomorrow. I even need to read a whole history chapter. But do I get to work early and stop wasting time? Is the Pope Catholic? Is Peter Jennings an ex-Canadian? Is there really a point to anything? Well, the first two of the rhetorical questions meant to make an obvious point have pretty obvious answers, I think. Of course the Pope isn't Catholic, he's Presbyterian and Peter Jennings will always be Canadian, who does he think he's fooling? As for the third, that's a topic we could discuss for seconds and that would really cut into my sittin' around time. My oh so precious sittin' around time. How I adore thee, yet you torture me so...
So anywho, my day. I haven't talked, extensively, about my day for quite some time instead getting into whatever those long, stupid tirades about whatever nonsense my mind throws at me to keep down dissent. (On a side note, should your mind ever start to push you around, just smack it upside the...uh...philsophies a few times and tell it to get back in the kitchen and make you some Math or complex physics theories about the origin of the universe, even if it is devised into very hostile camps of poetical allusions). Anyway, suffice it to say I generally decide my days are so unimportant to the point that they're not worth mentioning. However, should this trend of procrastination TO THE EXTREME! continue, I might be forced to, with the expected hyperbole, of course. I mean, really, this thing is hard and icky enough to read anyway! What would you do without the hyperbole...
Probably get a job, you no account bums. But I'm one to talk. Never much for "work." Why else would I be a teacher? (Ok, so teaching counts as "Work", but if you do it right and enjoy it, I think that definition no longer applies). So that's about all I can think to put down, at the moment. Perhaps I'll start reading about the 40's and like it! Or maybe I'll do my Chemistry outline and like it! Or there's even a slight chance I'll study for my History of Statistics test or whatever the Euphrates I have to do tomorrow and like it! Or perhaps I'll just wait until next time...
But seriously, I'm aiming for cymbals. Now, although it is often equated with "lowliest of the percussion," I need only remind you that the triangle is a percussion instrument. And believe you me, if "triangle" was a viable marching percussion instrument I'd sign up faster than you can say "Individual reports seem to indicate that only 3.1151361% of head lice agree with the latest Gallup Poll about whether head lice read the New York Post." Or perhaps faster than you can really think of the deep implications of such a statement. It's hypothetical, back off ya bum!
So I've got two tests and lots of Chemistry due tomorrow. I even need to read a whole history chapter. But do I get to work early and stop wasting time? Is the Pope Catholic? Is Peter Jennings an ex-Canadian? Is there really a point to anything? Well, the first two of the rhetorical questions meant to make an obvious point have pretty obvious answers, I think. Of course the Pope isn't Catholic, he's Presbyterian and Peter Jennings will always be Canadian, who does he think he's fooling? As for the third, that's a topic we could discuss for seconds and that would really cut into my sittin' around time. My oh so precious sittin' around time. How I adore thee, yet you torture me so...
So anywho, my day. I haven't talked, extensively, about my day for quite some time instead getting into whatever those long, stupid tirades about whatever nonsense my mind throws at me to keep down dissent. (On a side note, should your mind ever start to push you around, just smack it upside the...uh...philsophies a few times and tell it to get back in the kitchen and make you some Math or complex physics theories about the origin of the universe, even if it is devised into very hostile camps of poetical allusions). Anyway, suffice it to say I generally decide my days are so unimportant to the point that they're not worth mentioning. However, should this trend of procrastination TO THE EXTREME! continue, I might be forced to, with the expected hyperbole, of course. I mean, really, this thing is hard and icky enough to read anyway! What would you do without the hyperbole...
Probably get a job, you no account bums. But I'm one to talk. Never much for "work." Why else would I be a teacher? (Ok, so teaching counts as "Work", but if you do it right and enjoy it, I think that definition no longer applies). So that's about all I can think to put down, at the moment. Perhaps I'll start reading about the 40's and like it! Or maybe I'll do my Chemistry outline and like it! Or there's even a slight chance I'll study for my History of Statistics test or whatever the Euphrates I have to do tomorrow and like it! Or perhaps I'll just wait until next time...