We've been here before: French paper 3

This is really starting to burn me. I feel drizzles of pain on my neck, falling from the teardrops of fire that are escalating my wall of symbolic impotency that I sense from my INCAPABILITY TO WRITE A FRENCH ESSAY.

Why can't I do it? Okay, so it's a lit essay, big deal. French essays, lit essays, French lit essays, I've done that! But again nothing is making sense.

Ugh. This really sucks. I'm thinking comma when I want to write a period. I'm thinking details when I want to think thesis. I'm thinking English when I want to think in French. Soooo it gooooes. Stop howling at me, Vonnegut. Away, scat, away from me, I tell you, or I'll have your neck. Or is that head?

Ugh, I just erased a paragraph from this blog, because I totally don't want to say that. Am I being too perfect? Doesn't the best stuff come from imperfection?

I guess, maybe. But I'm not coming upon any new epiphanies.

In a relationship, I want someone who is

Distanced enough so that I can rise when I'm on fire, close enough so I can land safely when I'm burning down.