Face to face with my own mortality...Or something.

It's 9:37 on a Monday night and I am in the law review office fearing for my life. Why? Because School of Law finds it fit to leave the doors unlocked all day and night, and any old crazy person with half a brain ( I would venture to say even a quarter of a brain) could let themselves in here and hack me to pieces. How sad will it be if I die doing work for the law journal? The week before my wedding? With this terrible outfit on?

So sad. It. would. be. so. sad.

Thus I am armed. With a stapler. And 200 pages of nonsense written by some legal scholar with either a very quirky sense of humor, or an inability to speak English. So no worries, yall, I'm cool.