I found it kind of uncanny how Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 143” is about lost love, and how in some wacky form of online-speak, “143” translates to the number of letters in each of the words of “I love you.” I could go on for a while analyzing WHY I think Shakespeare chose that particular sonnet to be number 143, but it would eventually become redundant and I’d ultimately come to the conclusion that Shakespeare probably did not write in online-speak, and therefore the sonnet number probably has nothing to do with the sonnet itself. Why couldn’t he have been more creative, at least, and titled his sonnets? It is kind of a bother comparing number 57 to number 33, figuring that 57 minus 33 is 24, and digging up the underlying meaning behind the factors of 24 as they relate to the former. (Fifty-seven is a prime number, isn’t it? Curse you, Alderson.)

(If Douglas Adams had the chance to explore Shakespeare’s sonnets, and if his ideas were immediately regarded as true, then complex love would be the answer to everything, and Shakespeare’s odd train of thought would be interpreted and published into a book of religious law.)

(Is “religious law” an oxymoron? )

Enough of my rants that only make sense in my head. Today I came into Stat to find that the group test was postponed until tomorrow because of Ms. Rivara’s scheduling mishap (she thought we were third period? what?).

MANNY’S BACK!  We had an enlightening conversation about how naïve her AP classes are this year.  ‘Twas all in good fun.

And in Bio we had an unexpected group test (that I believe we failed miserably). Luckily you’d only get points on it if your group got the highest score in the class. Mr. Neville came over and “helped” our group; in actuality, he confused us even more and caused us to miss more questions that we would have already. Damn him and his policy on fairness (or lack thereof). Band was uneventful. Civics was uneventful. I have ranted enough about English. And here I am, blogging (I hate Microsoft, “blogging” is so a word) about things I’d rather forget. Maybe I will listen some concert band music that I only wish we would be able to play. I wonder how many people will quit next year because Barb’s “twenty-five person wonder band” isn’t up to scratch.

I need to conclude this somehow. Conclusion.

One thought on “CXLIII

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