The more there is to do, the more I find excuses to screw around -- which is great for the blog, which is now sporting a banner of St. Denis street in Montreal.
So here's the insta-update for me at the moment: am living out of Furman Hall, trying to juggle (i.e. write) two briefs that are both due for next week; helping my liver recouperate from a fairly intense Spring Break by not drinking for a few days; trying to avoid people and not to think too hard about how I'm a terrible person that alternately flips out and/or messes with people's minds in a time of crisis; and showering at least twice a day as the only form of stress relief I can pack in between meals and pounding away at the laptop.
I find it strangely sad that my ancestors, brave monkey souls that they were, fought for generations for the privilege of running and walking upright only to have their progeny (i.e. me) waste away in uncomfortable chairs, basked in flourescent light with only a
few lines of Wordsworth on the wall for company.
