I had never seen what happens to a Car Bomb if you don't drink it fast enough. It's gross. Good thing I always down mine fast. Funny that something delicious like that can go so wrong. Irish Night = Success.
Now I should be studying for midterms but that's not my style. I really want to be writing my next piece for Nonfiction but I just don't know what it's going to be. After the response I got from my professor (Stephen Kuusisto) about my last piece, I feel good. Encouraged, hopeful, and rather flattered. But now the pressure's on because I want to deliver again and it just isn't happening. I know from past experience that if the writing can't flow out, if I have to think about what comes next then it isn't going to be good. I've been told to write about my obsessions but how many essays can I turn in about my family? Eventually someone is going to call me out on it. I'd like to challenge myself to expand my subject matter but every time I do, it spirals into nothing. Or I force it into being and am not pleased.
But I'd better spend my words on that rather than here. I'll pull something together.
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