Whatever this glorious future is, it don't mean nothin' to me. Some day I'm gonna get shot wince in the head when I'm least expectin' it, an' then they're gonna throw my ass in a ditch. An' you know what? So long as I did right by my buddies an' I never turned into a total dirtbag -- I won't care.
- Garth Ennis, "To Hell with the Future"

"All Hell's A-Coming"
I still have yet to start my final college essay. It's 12-15 pages, it's due Tuesday, and it's working title is "Terrible Beauty Me Arse: Insert Long-winded Academic Subtitle Here," and I'm planning on coining the term "potato western" in my description of Garth Ennis's seminal work. A dozen or so pages on the wonders of comic books? This should be a cakewalk, right?

Between here and the last fling of this Daredevil English Major is a step-outline for a screenplay I stopped understanding months ago which is due tomorrow, a quiz in Poli Sci class I'm not prepared for, the last writer's club meeting, and if one of my uglier college traditions holds true this one last time, some type of horrible complication in my love life (this last bit seems fairly unlikely, however, as I no longer have any semblence of a love life, but I try not to tempt the Fates, because them bitches are cold and resourceful).

I vacillate between abject fear of failure in my responsibilities and the confident knowledge that I've been in tighter spots than this before and came out swinging free and easy.

So anyhoozle, off I go into that one last battle before I am a Daredevil English Major no more.

Cheers.