"To hell with it, he thought; if destiny could not be outwitted, he might as well see what else life had to offer him other than a few decades of living on a Cretan hillside before burial underneath it."

The Island, Victoria Hislop

Yesterday's Literature SRP was a torture. Physics class was a nightmare. Today was the last straw. These days I find that I'm not easily provoked. Comments or actions that would have triggered my anger in the past only make me sad and tired these days. Maybe I'm too tired to even muster the energy to fly into a passion.

Product of yesterday's boredom:

Dozing off in this class ennui
Her voice as dull as she
Nothing makes sense here
But your face I see in this

lined paper of doodles and of words
unencumbered, and once unwritten because
there was a time when everything was
said and done
Everything was said and done.

And so her words of lullabye
continued to lull this broken piece, a masterpiece
of one, that will remain an amateur
to you and to everybody else;
the whole world and everybody else.

Alas she spoke and then I hear
the words, strangely sound so dear
'Pack up your things,
come now, don't fret'
And so I move
for it is time to go.
Hey, it's time to go.