T-minus 13 hours

Dear Diary,

It is like major f- freak-out time right about now. TMA due in at high-noon tomorrow. Even after some trimming I still have just over a thousand words left to write. Good ones. T-minus thirteen hours to go and I am boned, so boned. Buggered. Buggered backwards.

Yes. This is real. This is happening. Christ, nail me up. Years of work down the drain if I f- this up. Serious. I gotta get my shit together, make a cup of coffee and a little spoocher tooth-pick, et rêvée comme ça.

Wake the f- up Max; and get on the pre-history of agriculture Flex, sharpish.

This is time critical. Gotta scram. Lest I mess this up.

Christ! Don’t freak the f- out Maximus. Chill the Flex out.

It’s only processual and post-processual theories. Nothing could be simpler.

...Yeah, right.

Post Script: F- me this is tricky!

I’m getting it done but having to work like a 81TCH to get it wrapped up and ready to send (local library usb thang) while Ronulus barks outside, chained up. Latratus.

This assignment is galliére (to row on a galley, chained up like a 81TCH) or even better the Calvert.