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Only four more credits and I'd have a master's in art history. An online degree wasn't what I dreamed of but I had supported myself for the past eleven years and it was my only path. I would have no semesters abroad. The Sorbonne was only a dream. There would be no apprenticeships at the Uffizi or offers from Chelsea art galleries. I'm the woman stuck with big dreams and an empty wallet. Compare the style of Nobel Prize winner Claude Simon to the artistic trends in Southern France between 1955 and 1960. Easy does it. I'll juxtapose Simon to Picasso or Dali. I poured myself a huge mug of decaf, got two brownies from the freezer, adjusted the back of my desk chair and settled in for seven or eight hours of tedious work. Computer on. Search . . . I typed in Salvador Dali and found twelve thousand, five hundred and six sites. Well, maybe not that many but a lot. “OMG. I'll narrow it down later. Start with Simon.” I was having a conversation with my computer. Sad. Search . . . I typed in NOBLE. “What the hell is this? Noble titles?” I looked at the computer not understanding what I had found. “You can buy a title? Yeah, right.” Why had I landed on this site? Oh, misspelled Nobel! (Photog w/British accent) “Right. You probably shouldn't have done that.” The man was now taking pictures of me. “Not sure where you hail from but in England, trespassing is illegal.” I was stuck at the top of the wall. I couldn't pull myself over and it was too high to jump back down. Three security guards swarmed the area in seconds and with a bull horn, demanded I get off the wall. “Come down immediately. The police have been summoned.” (Gay best friend Peter) , “I don't understand. You're bored with life and bored with this job, fascinating as it is. You hate your looks. What you need is a good lay. Does wonders for me. Want me to hook you up? ” Peter had his hands on his hips, lecturing me as if I was his child. "