MY DVR/LIFE PARTNER DID NOT TAPE TOP MODEL.
I fear we may have to break up.

Fittingly (who says that?), I took this glamour-shot self-portrait of me looking forlorn in the NYU library, attempting to work on my thesis. Looking good, Annie! It was probably right around 8 pm. Maybe I was subconsciously sensing my life partner’s severely depressing malfunction. We’re pretty close like that.

I’m so much sadder now than I was in the library. And look how sad I was there! There wasn’t even water in that bottle, and all my snacks were gone. Don’t you just want to feed me iceberg lettuce and discounted Reese’s eggs?

For some reason, “sadder” is striking me as possibly not a word. But that’s crazy talk. I’m going to leave it. Of course it’s a word. My perception of what a word is is effed-up right now anyway. If I have to read over-inflated academic words like “metastable” and “disequilibrium ” all night, I’m sure as hell going to say “sadder.” Also “funner.”

So instead of the Top Model Ten, I’ll leave you with a prime example of those pesky Grad School Sentences Annie Pretends She Totally Gets:

“Immanentist, de-individuating, posthumanist ontologies might be said to enact their own paralyzing rhetoric of addiction: deterritorializing responsibility, they ensure the transnational consumption of compulsion.”

Exactly. I coudln’t have said it any better myself. (Because I don’t know what thirty percent of the words mean. Right. Supersmart!)