Wow, you must be really pleased with yourself—that string of letters after your name. And yet you spend your days teaching and never show your work. You are delusional to think that you are the greatest thing to happen to the art world in Seattle. So why are you teaching again? I worked my ass off for you. I did everything you asked me to do, no questions asked. I would have walked over broken glass and hot coals because I cared about the department and I cared about my fellow students. You lied about me. You tried to get me kicked out of school. I started having panic attacks again because of what you did to me. You took what should have been the greatest moment of my life, the best work I had done to that point, and you stole my joy. The irony is that people are on to you. Everyone knows the game that you are playing. I may not win, but I will jam you up for a long time. I am moving on. I'll leave you to fuck your students. I hope I keep you awake at night. I hope your guilt eats you alive. And I will know that you're stuck here, unacknowledged, unappreciated, and useless. I win.