Fatty. Fat fat? Fat fat fatterson.

Fat fat fatty. Fat faterson fatted fat fat fattest fat McFat. Fat fat fat fat? Fat! Fat, fat fat fat fat fat fattish; fat fat fatification fat fat fattylicious. Fat fat? Fat.

I think that’s an accurate summary of these past two weeks. Fat in the paper. Fat on TV. And oh, so very much fat in class. Sometimes I wonder if people haven’t tuned me out a la the adults on Charlie Brown: blah blah blah blah blah blah, fat fat fat fat fat fat fat. Three final projects? Are all on fat. Fat in fiction. Fat in television. Fat in pornography. I’m not sure if you can overdose on a field of study, but I might just do that by the end of next week; Colleen may come home someday and find me babbling on like John Malkovich in that freaky scene from Being John Malkovich where everything the Malkovich-clones said was just “Malkovich. Malkovich malkovich? Malkovich!!” except with me it’ll be fat, and I’ll have started to eat the copy of Shadow on a Tightrope I’ve got on loan from the library. Maybe it’s time for me to take a breather, maybe take up ornithology for a while. Except not really, because pigeons? They are so very frightening.