If there were any less people reading this crap it would be a, um, queer eye episode? Wait, that didn’t come out right. Dammitt. Nothing seems to now. Come out right. Well, not nothing, er, not everything, eh, fuck it all. Man, the master thesis is like covered in cobwebs like that tractor rusting out in the field, but I know I just gotta pop the key in and crank up the motor & I can get it started again there’s just too much shit going on & whut with this that and the other and fuck it, you know, it’s like, I just can’t find the time and space and necessary motivation to really knuckle down and take the 24 hours and deep bottle of rum I’d need at this point to seriously get into the swing again, and I know I will, and I know the rum ain’t necessarily necessary but it helps and whatever helps and doesn’t kill you and still allows you to live a peaceful existence can’t be all bad, at least in theory, but, oh, who really gives a fuck anyway, certainly not the nonexistent you.