Literature… I still hadn’t done the constructed responses and they were due tomorrow. It’s not that I didn’t like the class. It’s not that I didn’t like books. I just didn’t like old books. Third person, wonky paragraphs a mile long, and some dumb academic trying to force me to believe there’s profound meaning in the author’s overwritten description of a piece of furniture I don’t give two shits about. I’m pretty sure the author doesn’t even know what they were trying to do in the first place, and they were probably just high on laudanum when they wrote it. Or soothing syrup or absinthe or
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