I am overwhelmed by the prospect of spending a solid two months buried under a pile of books in the Art & Architecture Library. Luckily, the interior is recently renovated to glamourous mod good looks, and library intrigues always abound. Just this afternoon I was innocently making my way to the ladies’ room, when a former Wanker of the Week whom I hadn’t seen in eight months, emerged from the men’s room. We had a brief exchange that was only somewhat awkward. My suspicion is that he’s evolved since I last saw him in the sultry month of May. Perhaps the ice will thaw eventually.

Earlier this week I had another reunion, which involved an unfortunate incident on the edge of a frozen, snow-covered lake. It involved three things: an ATV, a bramble bush, and a missing gold hoop earring.

My Fiction Writing professor is an effortlessly dapper Midwestern expatriate who ordinarily lives in Berlin and writes for The New York Review of Books. He opened our first class by declaring, “There are only two reasons to write—desperation and revenge.” Sadly, both motives suit me quite well.

Tweet This Post