Fuck, fuck, fuck. Angst, fear, panic. So, I told you that I was made a college tutor (it's like an RA). I told you about my fears that they would move me off my floor. Well the bastards want to do it. They don't want both me and J¹ tutoring on 3B. I guess I can vaguely see the point they might have, but they're wrong, dammit. And fascist and horrible and fuck this.

Now we just have to figure out how to talk them into letting us do it anyway. War meeting at high noon. Film at 11.