"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
I guess, as the exams pick up and the mugging gets heavy, this shall be my only respite.
Kinda like taking shelter from the storm by begging your ingrate daughter for shelter.
Between the storm of ideas in my mind, and the impending invasion of test papers, my mind and soul remain in conflict. Passion and need, reason it not, for in reasoning it I find my heart does ache, and my thoughts clash like thunder.
A dozen ideas I have, none of which seem to work; half a dozen textbooks I have, none of which seem to make sense.
Oh Fool! I shall go mad...