Regret is so terrible. Even little regrets. I still remember throwing out my childhood pillow (there is some psychological term for this, I know) when I was 11 and when I think about it now it still makes me a little teary. Then there are the retarded regrets where you are just intimidated by everything (me ages 13-15). Arnold Klein one time asked our class (in general) what those little silver kind of inedible hard balls are on pastries and "dragées" was on the tip of my tongue but I'm such a wuss. Well that's his own fault because I always feel like I'm going to have a heart attack in the middle of the class. Like, omg, I don't know what I'm going to do because I might have formally analyzed this passage wrong! I am not using the terms defined by the author! Fuck no I'm not sitting in anymore Arnold I am no longer your semi-drone!