A class made of boring. A class where I could fall asleep if I had enough cover. A class that I'm currently listening to my headphones in while we watch a video. A class that allows me to write to you all and not miss a beat. Professor Edson, why do you drain all life around you? You ever so slowly crush the will to live with your blank stares, your ignorance of any and all of the material you teach, your sorry excuse for a French accent and the knowledge that such a dull, uninteresting and untrained person could become a professor of literature. Sure, it's a state school and most of the students here need help just crossing the street, but that's still no excuse to have this dimwitted lobotomy case teaching an upper division literature class.
At least Natural Disasters and graduation make up for the self-inflicted brain drilling this semester. Speaking of Natural Disasters, we're due for something big. Also, Wednesdays, don't expect much writing. Tuesdays and Thursdays? Expect writing only from 11:00-12:15 and 4:00-11:59. Other days? Who knows?
Oops. Left this alone for too long and forgot to post it. Forgot where I was going with this.
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