I'm starting to write the paper that's due tomorrow--oh wait, it's tomorrow already.
But it's on Charles Frazier, whom I adore, and it's only five pages, and tomorrow is Reading Day so I'm really going to write the dang thing tomorrow. Lucky for me he's only written two books so far and I've devoured them already. Mmm yummy yummy books.
You know what just struck me as funny? I write more about sex as a Lit major than anything else, it seems.
Beowulf didn't get any sleep last night writing his five page paper about Medieval Islamic society so he's asleep now...sort of. He keeps waking up and either
a) mumbling long rants in Tongues, I swear, or
b) telling me to go get some water from the creek we just passed on our hiking day trip (!) and whining that I and our driver (!) are laughing at him. And that we're doing it to be mean to him to get him to tell us where he came from and it's not working so there.
c) just grunting indistinctly and twitching, like a dog dreaming about chasing rabbits.
The hiking thing probably stems from leftover anxiety about his Hiking Camping and Orienteering class, which went on a camping trip last weekend. He didn't really want to go. I bet he'll detail the trip on his blogthingy, along with his instructor's crazy Peruvian camping stories.