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It's a long weekend!

Columbus Day weekend is here!
No school for me on Monday!
Sir Ron is most pleased for his first day off! :D
 
Tonight feels like Friday night to Saturday morning, and the next 24 hours will be like Saturday, so that on Thursday I will wake up to a Monday morning without having suffered the typical pre-Monday Sunday gloom.

If someone even dares to consider that I am being frivolous, reconsider what I had been saying for the past seven years while my gloom and anger were being derided... and what that means for what is yet to come to the headlines in your own countries. It's too late now... in fact, it was too late before this corner of history got started.
 
"But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness."

-As You Like It
 
"But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness."

-As You Like It

If what I mean were as simple as Shakespeare or the average internet quibbler's...
 
"But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness."

-As You Like It


To L. Liam, Comp. Geek

Dear liam! I have a mysterious tale
And cannot speak it. The first page I read
Upon a lampit rock of green sea-weed
Among the breakers; ’twas a quiet eve,
The rocks were silent, the wide sea did weave
An untumultuous fringe of silver foam
Along the flat brown sand; I was at home
And should have been most happy—but I saw
Too far into the sea, where every maw
The greater on the less feeds evermore:—
But I saw too distinct into the core
Of an eternal fierce destruction,
And so from happiness I far was gone.
Still am I sick of it, and though to-day
I’ve gather’d young spring-leaves, and flowers gay
Of periwinkle and wild strawberry,
Still do I that most fierce destruction see—
The Shark at savage prey, the Hawk at pounce,
The gentle Robin, like a Pard or Ounce,
Ravening a worm—Away, ye horrid moods,
Moods of one’s mind! You know I hate them well,
You know I’d sooner be a clapping bell
To some Kamschatkan missionary church,
Than with these horrid moods be left i’ the lurch.
 
What I said: heading to Monday morning with the spirits of a Saturday night!
 


To L. Liam, Comp. Geek

Dear liam! I have a mysterious tale
And cannot speak it. The first page I read
Upon a lampit rock of green sea-weed
Among the breakers; ’twas a quiet eve,
The rocks were silent, the wide sea did weave
An untumultuous fringe of silver foam
Along the flat brown sand; I was at home
And should have been most happy—but I saw
Too far into the sea, where every maw
The greater on the less feeds evermore:—
But I saw too distinct into the core
Of an eternal fierce destruction,
And so from happiness I far was gone.
Still am I sick of it, and though to-day
I’ve gather’d young spring-leaves, and flowers gay
Of periwinkle and wild strawberry,
Still do I that most fierce destruction see—
The Shark at savage prey, the Hawk at pounce,
The gentle Robin, like a Pard or Ounce,
Ravening a worm—Away, ye horrid moods,
Moods of one’s mind! You know I hate them well,
You know I’d sooner be a clapping bell
To some Kamschatkan missionary church,
Than with these horrid moods be left i’ the lurch.

I see I forgot to add "Cookie Monster/Freak", but what the hell... :mrgreen:
 
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