My photography class is going to kill me. And it won't be a pleasant death, surrounded by good art and warm lighting. No, it's going to be a slow, painful death. I expect chemicals to seep under my skin and the darkroom safelight to flicker dimly in the distance. I'll be suffocating under piles of rejected prints with horrible contrast and too much dodging and burning, all while I slowly suffer through hours and hours of developing time. The final wash will just keep running, flooding the room with water until my hundreds of dollars of photo supplies are all ruined.
There's no question about it, that's how it's all going to end.
Okay, it's not actually that bad. It's actually kind of awesome. However, it is bad enough that I don't have time to expand on my love/hate relationship with photography. Another time perhaps.
It's also bad enough that I just don't have time to write anything interesting on this blog. It's sad, actually. This blog is so young I think I'm stunting its growth by rejecting it like this.