The past few days I have gotten more into blogging. It is faster than writing in long hand.
Today I turned in some pages I graded, went to work, went to the class I grade (TA) for, and then I came to the library and sat down. But before I sat down in the library, I went to the bathroom. Life changing, I know. Who does that between classes?
Anyways, while I turned on the faucet to wash my hands, I looked in the mirror surrounded by florescent lighting. And there it was: Ink. Right under my nose. There were two inky marks, which probably originated as two spots... and no one told me about it all day long. Not when I handed papers in. Not when I went to work in the SC. Not while I sat in Albert Winkler's History 202 class. Not when I handed students back their papers. Not when I talked with the other TAs. The ink stayed above my lip and under my nose, defiantly staring down those in front of me. It branded me in the way only ink can. I am a victim of ink.
Drama.
