I am fast getting into the kick of things-- apart from the fact that it is 1236am, I have class tomorrow; and that I am gobbling too much shortbread down. You see, it would all have made better sense if this was (1) mandatory (2) graded (3) 3000 words instead of 1200. I was wondering just how the hell I would write non-psychologically (because I have been estranged from sociological writing styles for too long. . this is primely propitious towards schizophrenia lol) and so I started googling myself to retrieve my h20 Harvard stuff. Ahhh. The more I clicked, the more I jumped out of my skin. That *was* me!? Wow. I am seriously impressed. As well as seriously depressed by how I am out of major practice (I'm sure this is not as bad as the case of my drawing which I absolutely mourn). As I took my imaginary hat off to myself (er. . why did I bother giving such high quality work for non-graded assignments in the past makes me realise. . hmm, I must have liked it alot, apart from my ethos of producing substantial stuff; okay, too many parentheses!), I decided to dig up all my offline Power assignments (I am sure my term paper was impressive enough-- I sent it to C for admissions; see there I go again, parenthesis!) and started re-remembering all these ideas and analyses. . and voila. I am sure I can insert loads of these. If they don't like my refreshing version of the analysis of the notion of crime, then I will continue writing like a normal student. This is the deal. (And I am sure I am not the only one in contemporary history to have these same ideas, seriously). Ahh see, I knew it. As long as I have real work to do I wouldn't laze around. It is too easy to grasp concepts and analyse, and often it isn't sufficient reason for me to go to school because. . well, let's also say that Research Methods class is trivially easy, I want to cry. Okay, P, read a few more things, come up with a proper skeleton rather than one with the femur bone next to the eye socket, and go to sleep. Go to sleep, you little creep, with your red bloodshot eyes, go to sleep, you little creep, I hope your teddy bears die.

I also realise that ever since I came here, all notions of morbidity actually seem morbid to me now. Are they. .omens or what, I don't know any longer. Good signs, good signs.