Restlessness is like an itchy nose when you're carrying two jerry cans.
And your arms are impossibly preoccupied,
and burning with the water-weight.
And you can't stop focusing on the
path you're treading, lest you trip
and spill the fruit of your labour,
or give up and drop them to the ground
in a display of magnificent resolve
to scratch that itch.
If only this law degree were done sooner.
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