In a few short hours, I will have submitted this semester's grand wank--a semiotic reading of Antonioni's good-time Swinging London thriller, Blow-up, natch--to the most fabulous of all lit instructors I've personally ever had. After that, I'll be on my way to stress-free peanuts and Crackerjack. Pray for some sunshine for me, okay ghosts of LJ?

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