I HATE writing in the middle of the day. It brings me back, back, Back, BAck BACK to my Junior Year in Storrs, Connecticut, the time when I managed to get myself on Academic Probation and when Dean Lougee's Head Sec. phoned to ask, "Stephen, what's going on ?"
I recall being in Wilbur Cross Library trying to get the FIRST SENTENCE down so I could at least POTENTIAL the Rest. I remember the Frustration, getting so freaked out that, instead of sitting and TRYING, I just gave up and waylaid to the Student Union for a 20 cents coffee and sitting THERE waiting for Inspiration to surface from the dirty detergent water they sold as "joe". I loved every drop, toxic purgative that it was. Inspiration did not flush out my Writer's Constipation. Hope you can appreciate The English Major Who Couldn't Write --- ~~~~ _ _ _ ... go figure on THAT.
I feel as if I OWE my Foreign Readers, not only an Apology For American Criminal Insanity, but An Explanation of Present Criminal Political Cruelty aka The Trump Presidency.
Understand, I was already "ON" the History Honor Society due to Dr. Ward and his "Ancient Greece" and "Ancient Rome" Classes. But, as you Kidz know, Shit Happens.
Literally, I faced Expulsion. I told you kidz, I'm Trump.
I was my own clown in Shut Down Town.
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