I have become a cafe junkie.

Earlier tonight I sprawled out on the floor of my room, stomach down and limbs fully elongated, intending to drench myself in the infinite wisdom of literary critical theory promuligated in one Alex Woloch's essay on "Characterization and Competition in Le Pere Goriot." This is literature, my friends. You don't screw around. After about half an hour of rearanging my afore-foolproof study position, I realized that I was no longer capable of reading as such. All the academinc success of last year was about to be flushed down the proverbial tube--any hopes I may have harbored of future studiousness were summarily crushed by the fact that I could no longer concentrate in my time-honored study situation. O, God! It was then that I realized what I have become. Yes, dear reader, even so far back as last semester my most productive times have occured behind a large house coffee with a shot of hazlenut and room for cream. I cannot function normally, in effect I am illiterate, if I am not obliged to pay a proprietor of some small institution 2 dollars to sit at a wobbly table amidst a fog of noise and other such enshackled students while doing my work. Can you imagine what this MEANS?! I may not be able to study as any normal person would for the rest of my academic career!! What if I go to grad school and THERE'S NO CAFES THERE?! The INHUMANITY!

In other news, I am also nursing an addiction to coffee...