you're wearing me down

at the beginning of the year, laird and macisaac told us that we would be rewarded. that it would all build to something. they told us that shit last year, and it didn't amount to anything. at least not for me.

i told you i was just fooling everyone.

anyways, we've been studying dante's divine comedy for the past three classes. we've just finished hell. all the levels. all the gates passed. all the horros seen. and let me tell you- i was fucking horrified. remind me to never ever become a banker- the fear of the hooked demons is upon me.

but, this year, they didn't lie.

when class started, yet again i pulled out my pen and my book and i was all ready to take notes. macisaac is being all dramatic. the lights are dimmed, he's talking in a calm and sophisticated voice, his hair is not sticking up and his cup full of lord knows what is abandonded while he slowly, calmly tells us of the horrors of hell. [this is, of course, entirely a planned show put on. it's an act, a motion, but a damned good one].

ten minutes in, i glance to my right. peter glances back at me, and silmultaneously we both throw our note books to the floor and cackle quietly.

they weren't telling us shit at the beginning of the year- it really was building to this. we've been rewarded by knowing exactly how horrible the hooked demons really are. the terror, i shit you not, it's really on me.