smoking a clove, drinking a beer.

so yeah, i've basically been sitting around all day today trying to bring myself to write this paper on "la mort des amants", one of the poems in baudelaire's les fleurs du mal for my french university class, and goddamit i just can't do it. i haven't analyzed poetry in ages, and i've literally got nothing to say. so, i'm hoping a beer will get my creative juices flowing. i fear it won't do this, though, and i'll end up not doing this as i'm supposed to, which would be very very bad because i need someone to look it over for me.

oh well. it feels good to be bad.