"A nightmare has haunted me since my childhood: I am looking at a text that I can't read, or only a tiny part of it decipherable. I pretend to read it, aware that I'm inventing; then suddenly the text is completely scrambled, I can no longer read anything or even invent it, my throat tightens and I wake up."

Michel Foucault, in an interview with Raymong Bellour.

I am saying for the ten thousandth time, with the same amount of sincerity, I am failing. It hurts more right now because I'm year 4, I'm so fucking close to the end, I cannot believe this is happening to me right now. I never imagined I would end like this, never. Second upper seems more real every day and I am really just too tired to fight it anymore, again, as hard as it is for everyone to believe. I am failing and I don't feel like trying anymore.

Today, I looked at a photograph of a student protest without reading the caption, and I realised it was the juncture where the Mabillon metro is. A strange joy and sadness.