I Can Make You My Bitch If I Want To(the "My Prerogative" Mix)

I might not be around much until June 18th, the last day of my summer session. The workload is minimal, but the weather is characteristically abysmal for this time of year, and so what little time the weather permits me to use the computer must needs be spent grinding out two papers. They're supposed to clock in at a maximum of seven pages each, but I have a nasty and lamentable habit of exceeding(and sometimes doubling and trebling)the maximum, and I want to give myself ample time to wield my finely-honed and well-worn academic bullshit shovel. I don't relish the prospect of cramming twenty to thirty pages of analysis into a two-hour window the night before the paper is due. In my youth, such a prospect was a heady adrenaline buzz. Now it makes me reach for the Aleve and pine for a fifth shot of Jaegr.

I received the grades for my in-class essay test today. A+ for the first question and A- for the second for an overall grade of A. The second question was, if you'll recall, the one I rushed in order to beat the clock. I could rewrite it in a bid to bump the overall grade to an A+, but that would mean writing an additional seven-page paper that would magically mushroom to fifteen, and I'm not sure I have either the time or the mental stamina to accept that challenge. Plus, I'm not sure such effort would be worth it to bump the grade from an A- to an A+ and gain half a letter grade. I'll probably wait until I've completed the two papers and see if I've either the need or the ability to revisit the topic. If there's no gas left in the tank, then screw it. I'm not busting my balls for an extra point two-five.

All this scholarly claptrap and academic grandstanding has left precious little time for fannish productivity, alas, and so ficcing is at a standstill while my brain is occupied by Mongols and Kazakhs, and Moghuls and Oirats and Uzbekhs and Uighurs and Kalmyks and Bashkirs. Part III of "Detail Man" is ten to fifteen pages from seeing daylight, and it looks like it might remain in the dark until the end of June. I'm so sorry, innie_darling; I know you've been patiently waiting since Ocfuckingtober for this story. I am a bad exchange writer and deserve to be pimp-slapped by a sloppy-drunk Azazel in Hell's Cantina and Satanico Pandemonium Gentleman's Club. At this rate, you might get the completed story by this Halloween. ~is ashamed~

I Can Make You My Bitch If I Want To(the "My Prerogative" Mix)

I might not be around much until June 18th, the last day of my summer session. The workload is minimal, but the weather is characteristically abysmal for this time of year, and so what little time the weather permits me to use the computer must needs be spent grinding out two papers. They're supposed to clock in at a maximum of seven pages each, but I have a nasty and lamentable habit of exceeding(and sometimes doubling and trebling)the maximum, and I want to give myself ample time to wield my finely-honed and well-worn academic bullshit shovel. I don't relish the prospect of cramming twenty to thirty pages of analysis into a two-hour window the night before the paper is due. In my youth, such a prospect was a heady adrenaline buzz. Now it makes me reach for the Aleve and pine for a fifth shot of Jaegr.

I received the grades for my in-class essay test today. A+ for the first question and A- for the second for an overall grade of A. The second question was, if you'll recall, the one I rushed in order to beat the clock. I could rewrite it in a bid to bump the overall grade to an A+, but that would mean writing an additional seven-page paper that would magically mushroom to fifteen, and I'm not sure I have either the time or the mental stamina to accept that challenge. Plus, I'm not sure such effort would be worth it to bump the grade from an A- to an A+ and gain half a letter grade. I'll probably wait until I've completed the two papers and see if I've either the need or the ability to revisit the topic. If there's no gas left in the tank, then screw it. I'm not busting my balls for an extra point two-five.

All this scholarly claptrap and academic grandstanding has left precious little time for fannish productivity, alas, and so ficcing is at a standstill while my brain is occupied by Mongols and Kazakhs, and Moghuls and Oirats and Uzbekhs and Uighurs and Kalmyks and Bashkirs. Part III of "Detail Man" is ten to fifteen pages from seeing daylight, and it looks like it might remain in the dark until the end of June. I'm so sorry, innie_darling; I know you've been patiently waiting since Ocfuckingtober for this story. I am a bad exchange writer and deserve to be pimp-slapped by a sloppy-drunk Azazel in Hell's Cantina and Satanico Pandemonium Gentleman's Club. At this rate, you might get the completed story by this Halloween. ~is ashamed~