Chris is gone, spirited away by a taxi at a time of night when sensible people should be asleep and not hurrying to the airport. His leaving brings about the advent of exam week, which, for me, is going to be far more relaxing than it historically has been. I'm well ahead of the game with my papers - in fact, my main preoccupation is going to be the vexing question of what to do with all my stuff. I honestly feel like putting everything out in the corridor and having a huge jumble sale.

On the university front, Dr. McCarthy is missing without a trace, and goodness knows what he's done with my recommendations. Minz continues to message me twice a day to get frantic about her personal statements. It's a wonder any of us get into graduate school at all. Or maybe we don't. The process seems to weed disorganized people out just by virtue of its very nature.

Movies:
Pulp Fiction
Reservoir Dogs