How bad is this?

I can't even bring myself to really start packing. Maybe if I just ignore the fact that I have to be out of this room in less than 72 hours, it won't really happen. Yeah, that's it. Riiiiight...

It's a gloomy day again. That oughta partially account for my misty-eyed nostalgic mood. That and the fact that I re-read "The Lady of Shalott" today. You know, I know that supposedly the very end where Sir Lancelot says, "She has a lovely face" is supposed to be construed as him being a superficial asshole, but I don't see it that way at all. It see it as him trying to express... something. Something I don't have a word for. Sort of like love or compassion, mixed with regret and sorrow. I can almost hear him speaking in my head, with such a terrible understated sadness that it makes my heart ache. I can't explain it, but every time I read it I get a little teary-eyed.