The Newspaper Void

Mornin', ya'll.

I'm currently in the library, yawning my brain off, sort of writing an essay, but not really accomplishing much. It was due two days ago and I'm sure won't be done today. (Hooray, productivity!)

It's such a lame topic. Find six news articles on youth (I'm assuming on the same topic) and show how they're being compared to certain sociological theories. For two-thousand words. 2000.

How is that even possible? Newspaper articles are thin pieces of "facts". How am I supposed to stretch them out to make ten pages? The real question should actually be why am I stretching it out to make ten pages. I mean, I don't mind writing essays. If I'm analyzing literature, if I'm actually conveying something. Anything. This essay is just so ridiculous. It's like one of those assignments you get when you're in high school where you have to cut out articles from the paper and then glue them to bristol board and write little blurbs about why they're important.

Except using 1800 more words.

Anyway, this is a bitter rant because I don't feel like doing my assignment. I'm gonna whip some crap together, throw in as much jargon as I can, and pray for a B.

Oh, university. You're teaching me so much about nothing.

And now, a bite-size roommate rant: Yesterday morning, my roommate had a 26-minute shower, and was in the bathroom for a total of one hour, fifteen minutes. WHY? He had a shower and then was in the bathroom for an extra fifty minutes. This disproves the masturbation theory, unless he showers and then does it, which would be insane.

Today, he rushes into the bathroom around nine, slams the door, locks it, and then begins... cutting his nails. He had to dash in there to cut his nails. Nail emergency, you see.

ALSO, why do people insist on coming into the library and sitting in the cubicles where there is no noise and then rip apart eighty clementines and eat them, or turn their music up to MAX in their own ears so I can hear "Womanizer, womanizer, oh" ever-so-clearly while the person whisper-sings along to it. "Uh, hello, Britney fan? I can still hear you shutthefuckupohmygod." And now, in the cubicle in front of me, a girl is shaking a box of cookies. Or at least it sounds like a box of cookies. WHATAREYOUDOINGAAAAAH.

UGH.

--Disgruntled Jam