My dearest Nora, wherever thou mayst roam,
In the living room of my apartment at this very moment sits a lovely young woman...who is single...and is sitting scrunched up next to one of her friends, who happens to be dating one of my roommates. Now, there are two empty sections on the larger couch and I should think that there'd be ample room for the both of us there. I should be out there, watching whatever typical Hollywood "comedy" they're screening, and flirting with a pretty girl.
Instead, I'm sitting at my desk in my room, by myself, with earplugs in to drown out the racket pulsating through the paper-thin walls. To make matters worse, I've been in here for four hours already this evening doing exactly 63 end-of-chapter problems from my organic chemistry textbook. With that out of the way, I am now turning my attention to 34 riveting pages from my statistics book. Better still, is that once I've read the chapter, there are 20 (mostly multi-part) questions that I'd like to knock out (although not due until Thursday), so that tomorrow, I may devote my out-of-class time to physiology.
Statistics... pretty girl...
Histograms... whiffs of pleasant, fruit-like lotions and hair-care products...
Percentiles, box-and-whisker plots, standard deviation... bright blue eyes, soft skin, flirtatious giggles...
"Pretty girls make graves," said the man, speaking of another subject entirely. I'm sure that he wouldn't mind my adoption and alteration.
...I don't buy it. But I have to.
May the grace of He keep you always,