(no subject)

So yesterday before American Lit. I was catching up on the Poe readings and I ran across this part in The Cask of Amontillado:

He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.

"Nitre?" he asked, at length.

"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?"

"Ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh!"

My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes...

Now, I read the story between lunch and class and when I got to this part I distinctly thought, "I hope he (the professor) doesn't call on me to read this out-loud."

And you know what? He totally did. It's like he knew. And I knew. And there was a bunch of knowing, and I had to read it out-loud. Bah.

'Twas amusing.

I love my philosophy class so, so much. So far. The professor is spazzy and easily distracted and silly and it's just interesting. And I totally don't mind speaking up during it. It's a miracle!

Second Spanish exam in the morning. Meh.