It is getting tired here. I am one of the last hold-outs of the original credo, sworn in blood, that we will never die. Weariness has rendered me even more useless than I ever was. I am awake every night at two a.m., frantically attempting to correct my amassing and horrible errata. My face looks like that of a losing boxer's. Even getting a small bit of food is a daunting effort, and I think I might soon question its necessity.

The college has replaced the edges of every table with shards of glass, razors, cactus needles and salt. I have not been able to lean anywhere, on anything, for weeks. The legendary dust of New Mexico, second only to the hills of Idaho, and followed closely by the volcanos of Montana, has collected under my window, and so every time I try to air out my maggot infested room, I must prepare to whoop and bellow and cough and hawk and wheeze.

The library fired me on Monday, and then rehired me as jester. It is now my job to entertain the board of visitors and governers, putting on a smile with red paint and pretending that the wrinkles are made out of putty so that I don't disturb the childish minds of the my customers. I am forced to dance on pained feet, and wave my strengthless arms in the air, to turn my death thralls into a caper, and make mirth with lungs that are tired of breathing. My tears usually erase my painted smile, but the ignorent bourgeois audience assumes that I am converting from jester to clown, and calls out innocently, "yes, show us your misery and your foppery, make us laugh by causing yourself pain!" And so I do, and when they see me, they begin to sense the destitute and exhausted plight of the Student. As the realization, such as they are able to understand it, drizzles over the heads of my imbecilic audienc, some of them throw money at my feet and cry for my forgiveness, but the money is always fake, given them by their handlers to make them pride themselves on their riches, of which they are in fact being swindled daily, and so I am left with nothing.

There is a new regulation in the dining hall that, after every meal, all students must vomit up what little they were able to eat. This is collected and turned into dog food, by which Aramark, our contractor, turns a significant profit. I lose nothing from this decree, as I never ate there anyway, but still, the injustice rankles in my breast, and brings tears of outrage to my already wet eyes.

As I left my room to write this, my one allotted missive to the world, which I intended to use by begging for charity but instead have filled up with nothing but complaints, stern-faced men were carrying my bed sideways out of my door. They said they would replace it with an iron bar fastened to the walls and draped over with canvas.

The hope of Maryland is now all that keeps me from complete despair. If anyone has taken my cats, or removed the moisture from the air, I hope that what I have written above is enough to make him want to reverse his deeds. Please pet Flagg for me; rub him well and with diligence, for he is and has always been very dear to me. Give him whatever extra scraps of meat you can scrounge, and try to keep him free of flees. Glance with kindness on Mulder once in a while, too. He may not deserve it, but he has made himself mildly less disgusting to me by means of his loyalty. He has written to me every day, although most of the content of his letters has been removed by the auditors. Still, it has provided me with my only news for these many long months. Perhaps you might spare him one or two kicks a day on this account.

As a last entreaty: I have found it necessary to sell all of my possessions, including my beloved collections of curtain fabric and car decal stickers, in order to buy my passage home; and this small income proved to be insufficient. If any of you could find it in your hearts, or perhaps in your purses, which is more likely, please send me a few pennies. It would be the work of divinity if I don't have to sell my ass somewhere in Tenessee to pay for the final leg of my trip.