608 words into this week's last paper, goal for the night is 800. So close! I think I can do this, survive the next 15 days, that is... one paper at a time. I wonder if I could get an I.V. for my tea, that way I wouldn't spill it all over my notes. But that doesn't matter. The main point of this post is to remind myself that when this is all over I need to sit down and write my novel, except with a Ciceronian relationship at its core, and not an Arthurian one... the soundtrack will have to be Rachmaninoff Symphony 2, not Wagner.... and I should definitely drink chamomile while I'm writing, not English Breakfast. If possible, elaborate on Gawain, and not Galahad, who is a boring swot.
I think it is ok if that statement wasn't very cohesive or intelligible. It makes perfect sense to me, which just goes to illustrate how my Oxford education seems to be making it more and more difficult to communicate on a functional level. Those are my insights for the day. That, and I miss you all at home, but don't worry, you're in my thoughts just as much as all the other random jumble of romances and pyramidal social models, and that is turning out to be a very good thing.
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