The best present of all.

The. Mother. Fucking. Semester. Is. Over.

I flew back to Baltimore on Thursday, which meant stress, booze, and Xanax, because that's the cocktail I use to manage my severe flying phobia. I woke up the next morning, hung over from... life. And in an epic marathon finish, I wrote 19 pages on Friday, over the span of about 17 hours. The quality was about what you'd expect from such a showing, but I was damned if I was going to take an incomplete. It was the least human I've ever been in my life. I was a paper-writing shell of a person, filled with Badiou and self-loathing where my soul and organs used to be. My poor dear Rachael got off work (her last day of the year), and had to celebrate by watching me write.

BUT I'M DONE! Semester wrap-up to follow, at such point as I have regular internet access. Happy holidays to all, and to all a strong scotch.

Peace and joy,
J.