I just, like, stress-cried myself into an actual panic attack in the grad department bathroom, in the narrowest stall, because Dr. R ripped my lit review a new one and I swear the girl at the sink could hear me trying to muffle it. My face is blotchy and my eyes are puffy, which is GREAT for my professional image — a real coup, tbh — and now I have to go back out there looking like I just lost a fight with a tissue box instead of, you know, maintaining the illusion of a competent human being. The commute home is going to be a HAZARD.