Where was Roland Barthes when I was writing my final paper for my eighteenth century British literature class last semester? WHERE WAS HE? HMMMMM?

Oh, “Death of the Author” and “The Intentional Fallacy” would have helped make my argument so neatly and easily… oh, oh. It’s rather ironic. I wonder if this happens to graduate students, or if they’ve supposedly read everything by that time.

I cry.