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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