How Much I Like A Class Depends Entirely On How Much I Like The Teacher. I Love Poetry And Reading But

How much I like a class depends entirely on how much I like the teacher. I love poetry and reading but if you give me a bad English teacher forget it. I will give you shards of the mirror that my soul is comprised of but never will you gaze upon me fully to see the distorted reflection of your tasks. To expect effort in the face of malcontent is both foolish and delusional.

When I woke up this morning Ao3 was down. I waited for hours, refreshing my page and checking their status while I tried to find something else that could capture my attention as readily as Ao3 does. The moment it began to work again I started downloading some of the completed works from my bookmarks. During the time that the site was on again and off again I managed to download 51 fanfics, I counted. And while I was waiting to see if it would load so I could download 1 more I decided to add up the pages. I had time and little to occupy it with. Over 12,500 pages of pdf saved fanfics. And yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. I sit here, still thinking of several more. I can recall titles and plots and whole separate fandoms of works that I did not reach in time. I feel like a librarian watching Alexandria burn, bringing with me what I could reach. I can taste the words on the smoke that fills the air, my fingers are stained with ink and soot. I downloaded what I could in the hopes that I may feel secure, to appease my memory because I feared I’d lose the very thing that brought me joy. Over 12 thousand pages, and I can only feel dread.