In High School I was proud of the classics I’d read – it took a reading of Great Expectations before I had a taste for Dickens. Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Dumas (tee hee), Hugo were all authors whose works I loved. Sure, I read some contemporary novels, but with so many classics I felt my time would be better used reading books whose appeal had been proven. I am guilty of a kind of snobbery when it comes to books I suppose, though I have recently read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and fell in love with it.

I do everything extremely well. I really do! Whether it is good or bad, I do it well. I suffer from what could be described a harmless extremism. When I am dedicated to school, I am an extremely good student – 4.0 even (two prior semesters are proof) – and when I am impossibly dedicated the drain is nearly physical. In this state I have, and consequently am, no fun.