My imminent prospects for two weeks to come are twelve-pointed and double-spaced.  Pages spill off of a cerebral sill and flutter to their death on the lower level library floor.  I always wear headphones as a way of rerouting the computer’s optimism, its sonic affirmation of operation that stirs the masses when unfettered from the bud.  I just listen to my breath.  Muffled and concomitantly amplified.

Having to write twenty-something pages on hukou policies in the post-reform PRC is a challenge to my grammatical flow.  And in light of my alarmingly forthcoming thesis, I’m hoping to learn at least a few more transitional phrases.  If you know of any fine ones, I’m right here.

My upstairs capitulum seems bound in libration, waning with the disappointment of this current semester and waxing with desire for the next.  Not much will change.  The underlying issue is rather out of my reach, so my comprehensive boredom is unfortunately translated as academic lassitude.  It’s just a lowly excuse.