I Cried For Veil

Fact is: I came in late to one of my classes today. Embarassed but not wanting to miss class I entered the room, though conscious of the stares of my classmates (I hope they were thinking that I was brave enough to come in). I am thankful enough that my professor was so kind to accept me (well, he has no choice afterall, I was in the room and ready to listen to the lesson). I got confused with my schedule. I thought my class starts at 2:30 p.m. as I have another class at Brockport also at 2:30 MWF. I was in the library, enjoying reading a couple of books and later our textbook. I was confident enough that I wasn't late for the class. I was never late to any of my classes before. Never. I cannot afford that. But, sometimes you just trip off. Sigh.
However, I became frustrated upon knowing they were having a quiz on the extent of how much you know about current events. I know most of the answers, schucks, though time contraint prevented me to think clearly, even forgetting that Condoleezza Rice is America's Secretary of State. Well, I know that Hillary Clinton is a senator from New York but I don't know who is the other one. I am glad that the professor asked about the actor who played Truman Capote in the movie Capote (I am actually preparing a critique on two Capote movies and Capote's book "In Cold Blood", also using resources edited by Harold Bloom). Well, Dan Brown is the author of The Da Vinci Code and John Grisham wrote several legal thrillers. I should read the 2007 Almanac I bought.

Anyway, I must go to sleep now. I have to wake up at 5:00 a.m. I am ready to discuss the merits and demerits of J. California Cooper's short story "Sisters of the Rain" in my International Fiction class using Jose Garcia Villa's criteria of what a good short story must possess. I though think it is a commercial story than a quality story.

Oh, imagine these lines posted on my tomb:

my lightning wears no shroud.
it descends from heaven acute,
on tiptoes and fever uninsured
then breaks intact.

That sounds familiar. Hmm... that's part of my poem published in a magazine back home.

Oh well