Dirt, and...a sad poem [Monday, Jan. 22, 2007, 11:41 pm]
This is Maine. It snows a lot here. And when it snows, the powers that be are morally obligated to spread piles and piles of dirt and grit over the roads and walkways. I'm not complaining, mind you.
But inevitably, the dirt coats every pair of footwear I own. Then it is transported from the walkways and roads of campus into the dorm, up five flights of stairs, down the carpeted hallway, and onto the floor of my dorm room.
Eventually this dirt then finds its way into my BED, and serves to annoy me every time I have to brush it out, attempt to kick it across the room and out the door, or even vacuum it up. It just keeps coming and coming and won't go away.
I think a broom might be more effective in this case. Maybe I'll add it to my list.
Anyway. You might just have to put up with more poetry than usual in the coming weeks. Hopefully it will be better than that crap I sometimes post. I'll post the one I'm memorizing for class, to test myself. It's by Edna St. Vincent Millay, and it's very sad, but not as cynical as some of her other works. She was from Maine too, by the way.
Vitality - Tuesday, Aug. 11, 2009