Today I found an old workbook of mine, which I hadn't looked at in a while. The insane scribblings contained therein had something of a The Fall of the House of Usher vibe, so needless to say I was pouring over it in grim fascination when Mom found me.
Mom: (peering over my shoulder) Is that poetry I see in your geometry book, Allie?
Me: No, it's an opening sentence for a story. Looks like I was going through an Edgar Allan Poe phase. (reading aloud) "I know nothing except the near-heaven of the past, the probable hell of the future, and the stifling purgatory of the present, from which I write this narrative."
Mom: Wow, that does sound like you during geometry.
Me: Oh, and look, (pointing down the page) it's a drawing of a bunny. Clearly I was shifting wildly on the emotional scale.