Blood is compulsory.

You now how they say in college you can only choose two of these three: sleep, good grades, and social life? Well, graduate school has three similar options, only the choosing among them is a bit different. To those of my readers who want to know how school is treating me:

My roommate and I are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Graduate school is the Player.

Putting aside this terrifyingly accurate description of graduate school as told by Tom Stoppard’s Player, however, things are going reasonably well. I’m struggling through Latin by the skin of my teeth (a frustrating and discouraging fact, since Latin is the one class I really care about doing well in and learning well and permanently), I have chosen an exciting topic for my big research project, and I am miraculously keeping up with my Lit readings. My professors are, in general, lovely. I am not dancing or doing anything active and am perpetually hungry, yet have still managed to lose weight. Intense stress: the new fail-proof diet plan, in which you’re allowed to eat twice as much as normal. The past three weeks have been the most stressful yet, as they have contained necessarily instant decisions about my future, a whirlwind move to a new apartment, and simultaneously catching up after the move last weekend and working ahead in an attempt to have more free time this weekend (which has been utterly unique and enchanted, and the best I’ve had in a very long time, and of which I will say no more here for the present because I have inordinate amounts homework to do).


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