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kiss me with those red lips

The overflowing trash can in Jordan's office is fifty-five percent full of Twix wrappers, thirty-five percent York peppermint pattie wrappers, ten percent ginger candy wrappers, and an empty cold medicine bottle is perched on top. It is finals week and we have barely left this room in the last three days.

I have also decided that, while tweeting about one's stress- and study-related antics during finals time is perfectly acceptable and even therapeutic, it borders on cruel to tweet about how relieved one is to be finished with one's finals. Because the people who are still immersed in the utter un-knowing of whether or not they are going to make it to the end of their own (e.g., me) then have to read those tweets and feel wistful. Maybe this just means I should get off Twitter. Most people, it must be said, are very, very boring tweeters.

This paper on Dracula is going to have to come out of me at some point in the next two days. I'm only finishing my first semester of graduate school and I'm already made sleepy by the critical work that's being done in my discipline. Reading lackluster articles, while necessary for the purposes of citation in my paper, is really, really not what I want Tufts to be paying me to do. I don't know if I came here thinking I would be doing something else or if this is turning out to not be what I want to do. Or if maybe I can do what I want to do, I just have to figure out how to do it within the system of frankly masturbatory academia in which I'm going to inevitably be immersed.