It’s actually 12:34 a.m. on the day after the ninth day of
this. Whoops. I’m in Chester’s, writing a paper. I have coffee despite my
decision to avoid it for a week.
I am simultaneously, intensively conscious of (a) my one
month left at Gordon and (b) my next year at Oxford. Sometimes I can’t breathe,
out of terror and elation. Dear everyone, spend time with me before I go?
Please. I love you so.
I keep dropping granola down my shirt.
Psst—I have a leotard and tights on under my jeans and
cardigan.
Cold War Kids just came on. Back to work.
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