Direction number the first: The walk home in the morning from an all-nighter in Clemons library is the most shameful walk-of-shame of them all. Think about it: in a “real” walk of shame, what happened? You hooked up with somebody. You got some. Now, there may be awkward social ramifications on the horizon, it’s true, but presumably you at least had a partly-enjoyable experience pre-walk. Upon walking home from an all nighter in the library you not only look like a mess - but you also had a miserable time. You hated your life. You probably felt sick from sleep deprevation, anxiety, and junk-food consumption. I’m betting that, excepting the most abysmal of hookups, the majority of people walk-of-shaming the morning after parties had an exponentially greater time than those coming home from the library. So lift your head up high girl-who-doesn’t-know-the-name-of-the-guy-whose-shirt-she’s-wearing-or-the-location-of-her-right-shoe, and I will hang my full backpack and swimming head low.

Direction number the second: Walking home perpendicular to the partway-risen sun I hear icicles melting. The cold makes it so quiet outside that I whisper the words “it is so…quiet” before I believe it. Almost unfathomably, even sleep-deprived walks home from the library in the partially-risen sun when the cold is so harsh you can feel the moisture inside your individual pores turning to ice crystals, are immeasurably beautiful.

Three entries a night? Three entries worth of caffeine and stress induced inanity.

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