This is me around September 2nd. I’m the one on the right. The woman on my left is my pharmacist. I was at home watching Wife Swap and scribbling cryptic notes in a febrile panic Flannigan/Logan a repetition of Crevecour, de Tocqueville? WRITE OBAMA! I would take an occasional break from my studies to pick up a Bleu Monday and an unsweet tea. Events other than these were regarded with exasperation, despair, and contempt. I let go of the rope and watched it drift in with the tide as I slowly spiraled out to the Gulf Stream buoyed by a PFD of synthetic opiates.
Then, in the middle of the night, I heard the keening Horn of Gondor calling me back.
This is a picture of me now-
Pools of angry butter clot the battlefield. What did I do? Everything. I changed up the dynamicity of this whole operation.