Last night I was taking a break from La Grande Jatte-fest at the bibliotech. Lying on the futon in my candlelit living room, smoking a j, drinking a hot mug of black coffee, watching Eagle vs. Shark, and waiting for Lucy to come home with two French houseguests. All the while, Edinburgh grew colder--the biting wind picked up--and everyone just got that much cuter, with their now windblown cheeks and rosy noses, and their cable knit sweaters and hats.
Now it's FREAKOUT WORKMODE TIME. I should probably go back to the library to ensure that I actually spend the next few hours working instead of dicking around in my room being a pothead and drinking coffee and reading about something completely irrelevant to my MOTHERFUCKIN' SEURAT ESSAY*. Dope. I'm also forgetting how to spell things. Big time. But, the good news is, I don't have to ever think about fucking Descartes' thoughts on GOD ever again! Really! Like, I just tried to think about it some more, and it physically, hurts me, so it's really nice to know that there's absolutely no reason that I will ever have to touch that information again, unless I want to voluntarily reach into my brain for it in order to rape someone in an awesome PHILOSOPHY DEBATE
So whatever. French people in my living room. What.
*Document is at this point hypothetical
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