But I Had Just Taken a Crumb of Adderall, So This Has Been Fun, And Seems Like Something to Share

My apartment is freezing. Mostly I huddle under blankets next to my space heater, hoping it will start a fire as such things are apparently wont to do; for days after I burned myself with tea months ago, that splotch of leg was unfailingly warm, through and through.

My mom sent me another space heater, for the rest of my space. Being a stereotypical girl, cold and dumb (physically, mentally, sexually), I plugged it into the same outlet as my other one, which, perhaps predictably, caused the electricity to go out. I manned up and braved subfreezing (seriously! well like 31 degrees) temperature and found the fusebox and reset the thing like I saw a boy do one time.

Then this morning I did it again. I thought because I used two different outlets, one in my culinary workspace and one in my academic workspace, it would be okay. But it was, I now understand, the same circuit. It was the kind of spatial and disciplinary separation that allowed 18th-century philosophes to bemoan their spiritual slavery because the economic slavery that supported their lives of mind was displaced to the Caribbean.

Repeated attempts to reset failed. I called my landlady, whose answering machine wished me a day full of moments of joy. My phone and computer are about to die. I have very important papers due, to do, imminently. It's raining.