No one in this picture is wasted. I hope they can forgive me for this apt rendition of how college can turn you into that creepy baby monkey.
The French kids like to sit on the Gwathmey porch and smoke, which is all very well, until the smell spirals up to my open window. Things I've learnt in class so far is that I pretty much fail at talking about anything outside of fiction and am definitely not a feminist, whether it be radical or Marxist-socialist. I haven't visited Mem Gym yet and seem to have unconsciously assumed that there'll always be people to drag me out for accidental exercise, like how Ruth took me on traipse all the way back from Downtown Mall just so she could find the Pregnancy Centre she's interning at. She refused to ask for directions because she didn't want people to think I was pregnant.
Today I will point out pictorial fact. Behold the room:

At first glance my side of the room is no mess. However, on closer inspection, there are loose fire-hazard wires conveniently placed for people to trip over, plus shit in wardrobe drawer that won't stay stored. Alice's side is one of clean deliberation. She brought a shelf. Her dad brought tools to help set it up. And most importantly, she chose a comforter that actually covers the whole bed.
I need to get my life in order, and then I'll tell you about it.