Blame

“Oh my gosh! This is just so hard!” She whined aloud at last and flung both her arms up to the ceiling, still gripping the book firmly. Heaving in irritation at the troubles she had been facing and quitting from the small pacing she had been doing since the early evening, Margie walked away from the door and threw her book on the bed and collapsed with her back on the bed, the dorm room still ringing with the sounds of her frustration. She could not curse but she felt the small splendor of that exotic language coming up her throat. She swallowed. Margie’s communications book flopped off the bed as she bounced, the notebook dropping off the far side and the pen bounce in a rapid tap off the linoleum floor.  The activity seemed to symbolize the turbulent disturbance which was going on in her mind; a frenzied jumble of confusion brewing endlessly in an infinite loop and like a remorseless demon gripping her mind and wringing it so that she could do nothing but whine.

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