I am alternating between coughing and writing an English Lit essay on The Color Purple ("You spelt 'colour' wrong, Isabel!" said a boy in my English class with remarkable and slightly annoying self-assurance. Isabel looked slightly incredulous. "No I haven't." She turned away. "Yes you have. You missed out the 'u'!" He smirked.)

This might just be me, but there is something comforting about plunging into work and writing essays after having cringed away from the mere thought for at least a week. Once I have crumpled several pieces of paper in frustration, you see, everything goes smoothly. My disjointed thoughts make their way onto paper with not much deliberation on the part of the hand, pouring out words I never knew my vocabulary possessed. There is a special zone for essay writing, and I'm in it.