We are disintegrating bit by bit. H has RSI in her hand from revising too much, so now she speaks her notes into a dictaphone and I cut up her jacket potato. (By the end of next week we will all have RSI from writing three or four essays a day.) A’s glands are swollen, and I am infecting everyone who dares cross my threshold with the lurgy.
There are no conversations which are not about work or revision tactics or disintegration.
I will be less boring after next week, if I am still alive/in possession of my sanity.
Goddamn Right 