Statistics homework is akin to having your skin ripped of by thousands of needles in the inner-most circle of hell. Not really, but it is bothering me. Was looking through one of my notebooks and I have a bit of a poem in my stat notes, might work on expanding it, although I sort of like it in its rough state:
An average day in a boring class:
On a plane skew from actuality
I try to project my pre-image
In a perfect isometry
To that one point
That veiled anomaly
Where we intersect
We speak a common dialect
We dwell in the same linear theology
But when the universe curves
And space is time
Then, where will we be?
Cya children l8r. Going to meet the lovely Allie in the Lewis lobby.
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