I apologize for how depressing and personal this post is going to be. I know it’s outside of my usual style, but I’ve been going through some stuff lately and I need a place to turn to.
I took several college classes last semester. Some were thought-provoking, some were captivating, and some were Writing and Clinical Thinking.
If you’re like most people, you’re probably dreading the night before the deadline, when you finally get around to actually writing that essay. But I actually think essays are a great genre of writing; they’re just frequently maligned by people who either get disheartened with lame topic assignments, or people who just don’t like writing in the first place. I think a lot of people look at it from the wrong perspective: this is your only chance to argue with the prof without getting an automatic F, after all.
There’s a fine line between a messy room and a disaster. Walk this line carefully.
We reach the basement and the carpeting abruptly stops as the corridor leads into a sleek, metallic room. This is his storage room, where he keeps what could be the most powerful object on Earth. Money, fame, power. I just have to get through the locked vault door and I’ll have it all. It’s what I’ve always needed.