Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of post-structuralism.

Today, I began packing. By which I mean I unpacked the boxes I hadn't unpacked when I moved to Northampton and repacked them in different arrangements into different boxes.
I meant to get organized and get rid of a lot of stuff, and I did get rid of some stuff, but not nearly as much as I wanted to, and now the stuff that's left over doesn't really seem to go with anything anymore. I worked for seven tedious hours only to end up in the exact same place I began, and the journey was just obnoxious. It was like trying to follow a post-structuralist anthropologist's "argument"... except the only words involved actually exist, and there was less blood on the floor when I was finished with it.

What? Don't look at me like you don't beat the shit out of things that don't make sense to you .