(Extrapolation on Getting Situated) … I’m having a hard time convincing myself that throwing myself into graduate school for a year is anything more than succumbing to another form of mental entrapment framed by a well-oiled institution-machine. A set stage. Keep pushing on and you’ll find Happiness/Money, wittle yourself down to an Individual, and be sure to perform and eventually recycle the same 10 activities, rituals, cleanses, hobbies, tics, masks, trains of thought – and even less roles and physical functions. Your mood shall be defined by anxious migraines and anorexia that somehow makes you smug. You will be unfulfilled and you will sit on your hands, or make another cup of coffee. You and another Individual swear to latch onto each other so you can fit into society real snug and spend $$$ to eat out and peacock while making each other sick; you’ll learn to tolerate compromise and tell yourself it’s O.K. You’ll wonder why you never “ran away” from the Rat Race, or rather, the Laboratory Maze. You’ll remember wanting to build anything and being able to. And still being able to. And still being able to. And you sit. Some more. And drink. At the same places. And listen to your brain die in the dark in a place that may not even feel like Home – because Living is so not concrete.