Irony

Life is ironic. Why would the girl who used to get cold's practically every month, go without having one for about four months and then get one the week before heading to NYC for a exciting, potentional stressful three weeks of learning. Why?

Why on the day when she needs to finish an article for WORLD, write another one, read the last 30 pages of a book on Evangelism, write an essay on that book, write an essay on an book, read a book that is completely un-understandable to a person with a fuzzy-headed cold feeling, come up with well-thought out and intriguing questions for important figures in the world of journalism, would she feel like sleeping the whole day because her eyes are so tired and heavy and her head feels like its full of rocks? Why?

And why is she sitting on her bed, in her pajamas and 9:47 am when she has a meeting at 11:30? Of course then there is the question of why she is boring you, the hapless reader, with all these silly questions instead of just getting on with her life? Instead of find suitable clothes to wear…another challenge since they are all hanging out of the suitcase over there? Instead of actually reading those books, writing those essays, and finishing those articles?

Ok, Ok I'm going now. Bye

 

Note: Sorry if this makes no sense, to my half functioning brain, it sounds, well looks, like a wonderfully interesting piece of writing. I know though that you probably need to be feeling about the same as I am for it to make any sense as all.