i am disliking my paper very much, it is misguided, whimsical and undersupervised. i shall be a laughingstock when i do turn it in, and i will deserve it too. in the midst of my paper despondency i went and looked for grapes in the fridge (i don't like grapes, but i am friends with the girl in charge of feeding the weekly medieval colloquium and she gives them to me afterwards) but to my great pleasure i find that there were six strawberries in a bowl that hadn't been eaten at tea last week, fat strawberries, dark, very dark red, and by now have gone quite soft, so that when i had washed and cut them (with the edge of a spoon) they disintegrated immediately - satisfying soft pulp under the spoon. so i sprinkled sugar over the strawberries and poured some milk over it and ate the sweet concoction sitting on the kitchen counter feeling that my paper, though still unredeemed, would not now leave my wretched mood irredeemable.