Self: New and Improved

So this preparing to be hotshot grad student is proving increasingly trying. One feels floosie and ahem-less-cerebral induging in activities like Facebook-stalking, watching Love Story 2050, pulp-on-the-telly, reruns of Desperate Housewives. One feels the constant need to purge one's head of all unworthy thought- consisting of hot men, lack of hot men, avergely hot men, giggly phonecalls, possibility of hot men. One finds the relentless godly admonition of a winged voice ringing through one's head saying- You're not one of them. You are going to read cool books and write cool papers. You must think, read, talk, dream very important things.

Chastised. I find myself feverishly trying to fathom the Nuclear Treaty debates, mugging Parliament anecdotes off newspapers, grimacing at page three neckline-photo-essays, trying to make my hair look more dishevelled than usual, cultivating a kind of poststructuralist air, appearing supernuanced about bombs as well as bombshells.

It's tough building character. Building academic persona surely is way tougher. But I brace myself undaunted by the forces of floosedom that threaten like temptresses.


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