monk i am definitely not.

however, i am pretty sure that i figured out who the beastly reviewer was.*

and i’m now not surprised nor nearly as offended.**

i am still, however, wading through proverbial academic mud as i attempt to finish this small snippet of a chapter for which i have lots to say, only a miniscule portion of which of which makes any coherent or recognizable sense.***

the gothic chapter. let’s call it a quilt, because i’ll be sewing these pieces together with the thread of prayer later this week.

you think i’m kidding.  aww.  that’s cute.

also, note to self: you know you’re way past hungry when you think you’re eating a small snack before getting back to work, feeling oddly muted and possibly electrolyte-deficient and so drinking some really disgusting drink meant to replenish said electrolytes, and you nearly DIVE for the small piece of triscuit that snapped off and fell somewhere on your shirt.  because that piece of triscuit, in your clearly deprived brain, is the key to all happiness here and abroad, now and in all futures you can imagine.

in cases like these, may i make a suggestion?  just eat a dang sandwich already. goodness.

*no privacy laws were broken, bent, or assaulted in any way to find out this information. i just plumbed the depths of my mind and remembered the distinctive handwriting. because, folks, i got skillz.  i do it every semester.

**this guy didn’t know who chris brown or ne-yo was, kissed up to me all semester, and had an overinflated sense of self.  and i figured out that the other critique that sounded suspiciously like his? girl who sat next to him who pretty much spent the entire semester trying to impress him with her brain.

***considering the fact that i think most of what i write is utter and complete crap, take that as you will. it’s possible that it actually makes a heap of sense.

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