The worst part about going to school for writing is that you are left with no time to write. There is more reading than there will ever be writing.
And then there’s poetry. I spent a considerable amount of time today in class, dissecting a poem which bluntly compared Minnesota Winters to blowjobs. I am paying for this privilege.
As we speak, I am sitting in class waiting for the start. I often wonder if anyone in my classes could ever stumble across my amatuerish blog. If they do it is fine. Just so long as it’s not the winter/blowjob guy.
I feel most uncomfortable writing that word.
Better listen to the instructor now.