Tuesday, April 05, 2005
I take the Latin test in less than three hours, officially. The anticipation makes me dizzy, for I am not prepared. Oh, well.
I smell like cigarettes, because Amy's cigarette ashes spilled out of the trashcan, onto the floor, and onto my shoes. The soot also collected on the curtain attached to the sink (it hides the trashcan), which apparently brushed against my leg as I readied myself for class this morning. Since The Father quit smoking and I am consequently no longer constantly surrounded by cigarette smoke, I tolerate it much less ably than I used to. As a kid, I think the smell of cigarettes accompanied me like Pigpen's cloud of dirt, but I never noticed unless someone happened to mention it.
These three tests will not be good, but I ought to compensate on the final exams...
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:08 AM]