The following handwritten letter was discovered tonight crumpled up on the freezing marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

It’s a forgone conclusion I can’t make up my mind about that choice decision. Now if I could only remember what it was all about. One thing’s for sure—I’m going to go postal in my confliction resolution class with Dr. Evan Thingsout. Hey at least my therapist says my mood-swings, severe hypothermia and narcoleptic kleptomania absolutely have nothing to do with my smoking copious amounts of mind-bending loco weed, camping naked outside this winter and ignoring my unconscious ability to steal things in my sleep without paying for them. I know I’ve been tree sitting at night for 37 days, but was buying me a bar of soap some sort of elaborate, highly intricate, multi-faceted scheme designed to perhaps maybe suggest I should finally take a shower?

Hey I’m digging that new shovel we found buried,

Kristin

Song of the Day:

Dengue Fever, “Tiger Phone Card”