Grad school, (and we know this from phdcomics but it's much worse than that) is ridiculous.
You pretend to have the carefree existence of a student (or is it the religious devotion to learning of a monk?) while adulthood and responsibility and reality and taxes and ovaries and bills and maybe people named Bill and, and, hunger and thirst and family and Maslowe are all there with you, staring you down as you pretend.
You stay away from tv and stores and people and material obligations and maybe your hair starts to dreadlock and maybe you forgot to make payments and returns and stuff like that and when you try to return crap to stores two months later they don't give a shit that you don't live on the same space-time continuum as the rest of the society...does the ivory tower sound like fun? Hahaha.
So there it is, my STUFF. The internal organs that get moved from one dwelling body to another where I sleep and reorganize the STUFF and re-place it, some of it gets frazzled, abused, lost, a frayed edge, another tragically lost earring.
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