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These are not spirit fingers. THESE are spirt fingers.

My professor, who is usually all laid back and uses the ‘adult attention deficit’ method of class organization, seemed to have realized that there were only two class nights left, so for next week, I must read Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’, write a paper with six sources on a topic that the entire class is very confused about (as the most we’ve been able to discern from our distracted leader is that the paper should be about, you know, the process and, er, and then he makes random hand motions which in some cultures may indicate ‘the world’ or ‘the circle of life’ or maybe ‘the roof, the roof, the roof is on fiyah’) read and critique a short story, and also revise my own story.

I had grand intentions after my lazy non-cooking dinner (although I did heat up the peas in the microwave, so that is technically cooking, non?), but then spent the rest of the evening assuring myself that I was going to start on my homework for class any second, just after I got a head start on the pre-organization for the Holiday Cards. I figured that I would just get my address labels set up, but then I ended up spending forever doing that and then one semi-drunken phone call (in which ‘It was their fault. I think.’ Became much more funny than it seems in print) from a friend later, I gave up on the homework thing and just kept screwing around with the address labels. Which still aren’t done. Go me.

Have a lovely weekend. Mine will be spent frantically trying to cram 19th century gothic fiction into my brain and fashion a term paper out of jazz hands and spirit fingers