take you me for a sponge, my lord?

O god, oh god, why hast thou forsaken me?
Why haste thou sent me this plague upon my very soul?
The collective forces of the damned teachers demands
Preys on my spirit, sinking it into melancholy and woe
As well as- perhaps the most heinous consequence of them all-
Absurd and verbose moans and groans.
It leeches me of time, and thus it leeches me of life.
The brisk night air beckons, the stars shine the contrast
To my dim and Augean study, where sheets of scribbled notes
and forgotten formulas rot like flecks of weathered skin.
O God, why, why did you ever give such draining meaning
to the word homework?

They've given me another bloomin' essay. On Hamlet, too! We have less than a weeks time to prepare. yes, i know you can't empathise with me. no, i'm not so centred as to believe i am the only one afflicted by this school-induced agony. *kate cackles* Don't i sound like a moping toad of a creature?

I never knew Hogwarts and History were compatible in teaching. My history teacher today likened the 'regime' of that despised Umbridge to the gradual domination and corruption of the German government by the Nazis. cool, eh? i love harry potter.

By the way, when i was getting all fired up yesterday on the injustice of the Treaty, i do concede that from Frances point of view, it was a proper reaping of fairness. After all, Germany had invaded them twice, they certainly were notably unscrupulous in their methods of war (going against some of the signed treaties- eg, unlimited submaraine warfare). Still, their lust for vengeance (i believe), their bias interfered significantly with reason. Hatred breeds hatred. For hate loves hate dearly.

QUOTE OF THE DAY: (hamlet has just slain polonius. Rosencrantz is the king's spy)

Rosencrantz: what have you done, my lord, with the dead body?
Hamlet: Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.
Rosencrantz: tell us where'tis, that we may take it thence and bear it to the chapel
Hamlet: do not believe it
Rosencrantz: believe what?
Hamlet: that i can keep your counsel and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge - what replication should be made by the son of a king?
Rosencrantz: take you me for a sponge, my lord?
Hamlet: Ay, sir, that soaks up the king's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the king best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw- first mouthed, to be last swallowed. When he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again.