Outlines Are the Work of the Devil
The outline for my final paper is due tomorrow. Have I started? No. But I did write 1,000 or so words today on my latest project. Clearly, I know how to scratch that itch. To be honest, I loathe paper outlines. They're needlessly and prohibitively restrictive, and nine times in ten, the finished paper bears little resemblance to the initial proposal. They're a busywork vestigial organ, and they should be excised from college and university syllabi forthwith. Ugh.
I've been wondering where
pandora_nervosa got to, and now, thanks to
scatteredlogic, I know. Doctors really are stupid cunts, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why they would allow a disease to be unresolved for eight years just so they could try their nifty geegaws first. Hopefully, she'll be able to put her nasogastric tube down and get that intestinal resection. If it were me, I'd've gone John Q by now. They'd find me in the hospital waiting room, armed with a weedeater and screaming for them to bring me a case of Ensure and the TV remote, because, by God, if I was going down in a hail of "non-essential claims denied" forms, then I was watching Flack first, motherfuckers.
I've been wondering where
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