I’ve let this slip on occassion, though I’m not terribly proud of it and I’m not one to love on TV that much at all. But I love Grey’s Anatomy. And Monday night, during the last hour I’ll get to see until September or whenever, they killed Denny.
Once as an undergrad, I had an English Lit prof who really was a writer/poet (Sharon Weinstein, if you’re out there, send me an email!!). She was the first person I ever showed any of my poetry to, and she was kind and sharp and honest. She told me once that in order to write well, one had to do horrible things to her characters. Well. I guess killing Denny was as horrible as the writers could muster.
Turned grades in yesterday. On the short list to do this week: continue reading for exams, write this short story banging around in my head, mud the third bedroom, clean the house.
In T-minus (what the heck does that mean, anyway??) 16 days I will have many extra people in my house, so I should probably clean my fridge, too. Blech.