{5,4}
Kant's a tough read, so I'm procrastinating. The weekend was great... and things right now are okay, but I've been sensing that something isn't right. But I can't do anything unless I'm asked, so I shouldn't sweat it. Not my life.

{4,7}
The start of the weekend went as planned and expected. Today had a rough start, but then I got to meet Jackie Chan. Maybe things will be okay.

{4,3}
I don't know when I became so unentertaining to talk to. Or, at least, that's how I explain the sort of lack of anything that's been going on lately. You'd think there'd be some desire at least once in a while to just hang out and shoot the shit, but apparently not. Out of touch, isolated.

I went on a little walk, which helped immensely, mostly because I had some mail inviting me to a cocktail party at the Crimson on Thursday for student leaders. Wonderfully early enough to kick off a night of fun, see some new people, feel important, and put a bug in the news staff's ear about how kickass we are. The feeling important thing being the best. :-)

{4,1}
Sunday night help desk wasn't maybe the best idea. Although I suppose it doesn't matter that it's a boring shift because I get a lot more reading done than I would with a more eventful shift. It was a pretty good weekend overall, and that there is still one day left continues to baffle me whenever I try to figure out what work I need to do. But it definitely feels like a Sunday.

It's Magic Eight Ball time.

{3,6}
High schoolers have gotten less considerate... or maybe just more obnoxious. Or maybe it's just that I got the more mature ones freshman year, and the really loud ones this year. Friday is my morning to sleep in, but here I am, bleary eyed, having been awoken at nine and having tried to stay asleep for the last hour and a half. If this happens tomorrow, I swear to god I'll beat them.

{3,5}
What I need now is fortification backed by a healthy dose of cynicism. It's awfully easy to repeat some mistakes. Resolve is a weak thing.

{3,4}
Today hasn't been so bad. Although I intended to get a ton of work done. My computer appointment even got cancelled, so I was all reading to be super-charged in my reading efforts. But then Matt wanted to go to lunch, and even though I'd been already, I felt compelled to go again because what better way to procrastinate than lunch... and then he had to go and have a revelationary and revolutionary thought that will change the face of band recruiting as we know it... and so of course I had to go and run it past Tom right away, and Tom can talk for hours and once you get him started he thinks of a thousand other things he's forgotten to mention lately, and then by the time that was done I had emails to send and such, and now there's only an hour until dinner and I haven't done anything. But wow! I've done so much! It's all long-term benefit, though. And the Pudding Show is just shooting down my evening, so there goes Productive Reading Wednesday. It just goes to show you that you can't plan your life.

{3,3}
Don't ever be happy. When you're not that happy later, it's much worse. It's better to have an unending streak of hatred for something--such as Valentine's Day-- because any break in that streak introduces hope in the future, and that will only lead to misery. "It was fun once, why can't it be again?" ONCE IS ANOMALY AND SHOULD BE DESTROYED.

I hate being left out of everything.

{2,7}
Home is giving up. I couldn't stay there. It doesn't matter how late it is. We're all truly alone in this world.. or maybe it's just me, fucking up synchrony as to leave myself totally isolated. I'm walled up in this emotional bubble, and when it's time to talk, I can't form anything true because everything just gets stuck right in my throat, fighting to come out. And I hear all the voices in my head and they say quite coherent things, but when it comes to speaking, they fight for the floor and leave me speechless. When one phrase or argument wins out over the others, the time has passed. The phrase hangs its head, turns around and heads beack for the bubble from which it came. On to the next stop.

It's unbelievably warm. I knew this night would be trouble, in its warmth, beating histories into my head. How do I say, I was on a hilltop, and it wasn't the top of the mountain, but it had a nice view and the weather wasn't so bad, but I got thrown off and I'm looking up and I'm sobbing. Because the best thing I know is this hilltop and it's gone and I should be aiming for the mountaintop but fuckit that's not gonna happen. How do I say, I hate that things have changed, I can't function alone in that silence, all hope is lost? How do I talk about all the things that are supposed to remain locked away because nothing is going to change and I'd best be turning away. I'm sorry.

Took the T to Park and back just so I could see what Boston looked like without having to go out into it. It looked cold, desperate, and wet. When I returned it was lighter and colder. And I'm tireder. And squirrels in the winter are real fuckin fat. I've worn myself sufficiently for sleep.

The problem is the most basic thing.

{2,6}
I need to sleep like I promised myself I would. But I find myself awake and waiting. It's waiting for something I must convince myself I don't want anyway. Sleep is so very much better.

{1,6}
For a while it was like the best days, uninterrupted hanging out. Just like the best days.

Once there was new music, all the time. But it's been a long time since you've played me a new song. Long, long time.

{1,5}
Being sick realy blows. During the time of year when I actually should have energy to catch up with everything. Yarg.

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