I think I'm done. It really should be longer but I have nothing left to say. I just want to go to bed. Very strange, this essay has elicited almost no stress response in me at all (unlike the Report of Doom). I can't seem to bring myself to care that it's too short or that I went to trivia last night instead of working on it. Meh.

I'm stuck choosing between Smash attacking the pages as they come out of the printer, or attacking my keyboard as I type and eating my fingers in the process. Hard choice.

And it turns out it was PMS, a week early. No wonder I've been feeling like shit.

My desk is completely covered in print-outs of journal articles that have been attacked with red Bic or orange highlighter. The cats have been taking turns making nests out of them.
.

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