A warm white fog has descended over Northfield, and the snow is melting all squishy and brown and hopeful. The edges of everything are softened, too, like someone had a lot of fanciful fun developing the universe... My mind is spinning with Thai monks and psychotropic drugs, and I have less than 48 hours to write eight pages and take an exam.
I'll probably survive, although it is fitting to re-visit
this limerick that I wrote exactly one year ago today.
On a somewhat unrelated note, I found the wonderfully distracting website
Wordle, and pasted in my senior thesis. This was the result (words that were used the most often are the largest):
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