Last night was splendid. Instead of studying for my Editing final like a rational collegiate whore, a bunch of Woochers and I went down to a super-secret underground cove on Lake Superior and made fire consume the bones of listless trees. It was a beautiful clear night stocked with glimmering stars and a fingernail moon. Venus cast her sulfuric glow deep into the dark waters of the moody Lake.
After a restless night of stray ideas winding themselves through corridors of half-sleep, I rose to an early grey morning to prepare for the final reckoning in Editing class. The test was quite easy: root through 60 pages of notes from a Regent’s meeting, find 3 – 6 possible news stories and write budgets for each. Read a news article, write a short essay on what needs to be fixed, and edit it for sensationalism. Extra points if you incorporate space bunnies and pregnant men.
And now I relax in the Wooch! lounge, allowing the yellow table to drag me into its vortex of laze. I fling words at an LCD screen, hoping that a few stick like wads of wet toilet paper to the ceiling of an elementary bathroom.