I haven’t cleaned out the coffee maker in a week. It was fuzzy and muddy when I poured it out, like some sludge ooze crap. Splat splat.
I wrote an essay on Mark Twain’s Roughing It. I have a feeling that I can get myself to like any writer if I dedicate enough time to them. Jane Austen is earning my respect now.
I officially hate the comma, because it created an awkward pause in this sentence. The comma is especially detrimental in essays, I’ve noticed.
I wrote a resume, which is probably the reason for me listing things in an eerie, bullet style sequence. It’s sad to look at because I only have volunteer work under my belt. I don’t understand the format of the resume. You just list and list and list shit.
My room mate enlightened me about the significance of an eagle-scout award. It was included on one of the sample resumes I’d been looking at. Cool cool.
I compared the back of my hand with a friend’s, pointing out that his seemed much manlier than mine. He said his hands were vainy but I claimed that they were weatherbeaten, whatever that means. It reminded me of a part in a book I, where someone takes a look at someone’s hand and says, “you haven’t worked a day in your life,. It was probably Hemingway.
